


Of Intrepid Reporters and Awkward Farmboys

by SymphonyWizard



Series: Miscellaneous stuff centered around Chloe and Oliver's son [7]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Smallville, Smallville Season 11 (Comics)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-02 20:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 77,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonyWizard/pseuds/SymphonyWizard
Summary: Told exclusively from Chloe's point of view, after an unspeakable tragedy, Chloe and her family try to pick up the pieces.  Chloe has her own family now, but feelings that she thought she had buried long ago threaten to resurface.  Will she act upon them or will she bury them even deeper than before?Warning:  this is a bit of a spin-off/sequel/companion to The Sullivan-Queen Diaries, so major spoilers ahead.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Fallen_Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fallen_Sky/gifts), [phillydragonldy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phillydragonldy/gifts).



Am I cursed?

Am I a deathtrap?

Am I a horrible person?

Is there something about me that makes me a dangerous woman to be married to?  That brings the mortality of the one I marry to a precarious level?

All these self-deprecating questions fly through my mind as I stand here with many of my friends and family.  I watch as the empty coffin is lowered into the ground.  There wouldn't be a body to bury.  How could there be a body to bury when the last anybody saw of the man it belonged to was a giant mushroom cloud far off in the distance past the coast?  

Oliver Queen died a hero.  The family jet was hijacked and was being used as a ferry to haul a bomb to Star City which would nuke the city.  Clark couldn't save them.  Not from lack of trying, but because the plane was ladened with so much kryptonite, he couldn't get close enough to save Oliver and Johnny and safely dispose of the plane, or at least the bomb itself.  Only one could escape while the other piloted the plane off-course and Johnny was the one that was saved.  

Oh, Johnny.  I've watched Johnny almost more than I've paid attention to the proceedings of this funeral.  He hasn't spoken a word.  He has barely made eye contact with me since Clark brought him safely to my front door.  Worse still, I feel nothing coming off of him.  Usually, I always feel some measure of his meteor power and, depending on his mood, I feel some amount of joy, sadness, anger, disgust, fear, and many others.  No, I feel none of that now.  He's numb.  He's numbed by this tragedy and standing near him is like standing beside a void.  He's become an apparition of the boy I've proudly watched grow for almost eighteen years.  

So far, he's denied any sort of comfort from me, his friends, and even Lois and Tess.  I thought that he would have warmed up to Clark as he knows what it's like to lose a father, but he didn't do or say anything to him either.  How I long for my son to look me in the eye, to play with his twelve-month-old sister, Thea, to even cry into my shoulder.  He feels terrible.

He worked so hard to bring his father back from being under the influence of a mind-controlling parasite.  The parasite couldn't be removed or destroyed without killing Oliver in the process, so we had to figure out an alternative.  Its frequency was found through cyberspace and Johnny, not waiting for permission or to even discuss his plans, broke into Luthor Industries and found the place not only where the parasite was being controlled, but also where all the research involving it was.  Using the computer skills taught to him by Tess and I, he uploaded a virus onto the computer and the parasite was neutralized.  Johnny left Luthor Industries, but not before he destroyed all of the research.  

I was so proud of him, still am, but the joy and elation that we would have over having Oliver back would not last.  Johnny wouldn't give me any sort of confirmation, but either Lex Luthor or Checkmate, who was Oliver's puppeteer, wanted retribution for losing a valuable asset.  Whether Johnny lived or died, they didn't care.  They just wanted him to suffer.  

They couldn't have done a better job, I thought wryly.  Johnny doesn't have to say it, but I can tell he feels like a failure.  I want so desperately to tell him that he's _not_ a failure.  He brought his father back.  He brought my husband back and Oliver got to meet his daughter, got to hear her call him "Dada."  He even had a chance to see her walk for the first time.  If that was all I was going to get before he was taken away from me again, permanently, that was more than I ever could have hoped for.  

But I know Johnny won't listen.  He's too broken.  

I'm broken too, but for a few different reasons.  For second time in my life, I am at the funeral of a man I was married to.  

Twenty-some years ago, I was briefly married to Henry "Jimmy" Olsen.  After breaking up and getting back together so many times, I married him and the only parts of that wedding I remember are Clark escorting me down the stairs of his barn in that gorgeous gown of mine and dancing with him.  Jimmy and I were barely married for six months before he ended it with the second cruelest words anyone ever uttered to me:  "Marrying you was the biggest mistake of my life."  Among other reasons, it was partly because I didn't believe him about Davis Bloome.  He was absolutely right about him, it turned out, and he paid for it with his life.  Later I would find out that I never even knew Jimmy's real name.  Did I ever really know Jimmy?

If I wasn't already heartbroken, Clark felt that he had to leave humanity behind and spoke what is still the cruelest thing anyone ever said to me.  "Clark Kent is dead."  He left me alone in my grief and I became someone to this day I am not proud of.  I spent almost a year welcoming him with open arms, to reignite our friendship and each time he slammed that door shut by interacting with me as Watchtower.  In my loneliness, I started a relationship with Oliver Queen.  Actually, I had fun with him.

I'm not proud of how my relationship with Oliver began.  Somebody to fool around with on the side as it seemed like neither of us had any fun.  Eventually our feelings turned real and just as things were becoming meaningful--at the same time that Clark and I were rebuilding our friendship--I went off the grid, breaking the hearts of everyone I loved.  

It still amazes me as I think about how Clark told me Oliver self-destructed.  He drank himself silly, outed himself as the Green Arrow, and made a lot of bad choices.  But when I came back, after I desperately regained everyone's trust, I began a real relationship with Oliver.  It eventually led to being married after a wild and crazy night of mayhem that no one remembers and we left for Star City.  Sometimes I wonder why I accepted that marriage, even if I didn't remember it and there was huge possibility it was a sham.  Was I desperate for love?  Was it some sort of acceptance that this was what I had and I didn't want to lose it?

Either way, a year after Johnny was born, Oliver and I had a real ceremony.  I wore a strapless gown with a flowing skirt that was a beautiful mixture of fluff and silk and Clark escorted me down the aisle for the second time and doubled as my man of honor.  

In the nineteen year since, Oliver had been a great husband to me.  He was kind to me.  Every fight, every disagreement, every argument, every misunderstanding, he was there and he never backed away from me.  He loved me and I loved him.  He was an amazing father too.  In stark contrast to his lifestyle prior to meeting me, Oliver taught Jonathan to be a kind person.  I'd like to think I had something to do with it, but he taught Jonathan, not only to be a fighter, but also to be caring, loving, humble, and responsible.  Some things, Johnny learned on his own.  His wicked sense of humor, being able to tell when one of the adults in his life was lying to him, and his skill at the piano. 

I love Johnny's skill at the piano.  In the last few days though, Johnny hasn't played anything.  I heard him try to play a few times and I felt my heart shatter all over again as I heard him struggle to play songs that I've seen him play with his eyes closed many times.  

I want to help him through this tragedy, but how can I when I feel it too?  

To make things worse as I stand here in this cemetery, I feel a sense of deja vu.  Dead husband, breezy day, and worst of all, no Clark.  No doubt he feels a sense of failure too, if not inadequacy from not being able to save both his friend and godson, but he must know that I don't blame him.  He brought back my son and I am grateful for that.  

"I don't blame you, Clark," I whisper solemnly.

As if on cue, I feel a hand on my shoulder.  A sharp intake of breath sweeps over me.  I would know that hand if I were drunk.  I turn around and my eyes land on the towering figure that is my best friend.  I gaze deeply into those baby blues full of grief and the sense of failure.  Despite the pain in my heart, I truly feel joy at his presence.

"You came to me," I breathe with a watery smile.

"I'm never abandoning you again, Chloe," promises Clark. 

My breath catches in my throat.  For once, Clark said exactly the right thing at the right time.  Is it possible for a past mistake to be righted by a single sentence?  Maybe it can be.  Either way, Clark wraps his arms around me and I sob harder than I ever thought possible.  Clark simply holds me to him, silently telling me that he is here for me, to help me through this tragedy.  

As Clark holds me, I feel something else.  Something deep with in me.  It's something familiar, a kindling to a fire that I thought I had doused a long time ago.  A scar slowly beginning to reopen.  

And it scares the living hell out of me. 


	2. Chapter Two

Six weeks have past and I have not had a good night's sleep.  After taking long enough just to fall asleep, I fall into a horrible nightmare of being in that plane with Oliver.  I have no idea what happened exactly, but either my dream ends with seeing Oliver's body decay sickeningly from radiation or I fall out of the plane without a parachute.  This time it is the latter and my nightmare is thankfully interrupted by someone nudging me. 

I wake with a scream and it takes me a minute to quit thrashing and for my eyes to swim into focus.  My eyes land on Clark.  He's not in his Superman regalia, just a simple button-down blue shirt and pants.  At least he's not wearing those goofy glasses.  Even if he was, I am still glad to see him.  I don't have to say anything for him to know what's wrong.  

He reaches up with a delicate hand and cups my cheek.  His thumb becomes a little wet; I don't even notice the tears that have broken loose from my eyes.  They escalate into sobs and Clark gently pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me.  

"It was just a dream," he says softly, and for the umpteenth time.  

"I miss him so much," I mumble...for the umpteenth time.

We fall into the same conversation, the same words of comfort and sadness that we've been exchanging since the day of Oliver's funeral.  When Oliver was missing, it simply felt that prolonged sense of him being extremely late in coming home, now it just feels like a big chunk of my house, of my family, of my heart is missing.  Gone.  

"How's Jonathan?" asks Clark.

"Same," I reply solemnly.  Clark releases me from his embrace and I shift positions on my massive bed so that my feet are dangling off the side.  Clark sits next to me.  Maybe I should feel a little self-conscious given my floor-length nightgown has a revealing view of my cleavage and shoulders, but I don't.  I just let Clark slip his arm around my shoulders and I rest my head against his shoulder.  

"I still feel nothing coming off of him, even when he's playing with Thea," I explain.  "It seems like the only time there was even a remote display of his powers, since..." I can't bring myself to say it.  "...since it happened, was that riot he accidentally set off at school."

"He's trying too hard to bottle up his powers," Clark offers.

"No, I think he would be more tense if that were the case," I argue.  "He's numb, so how can I feel any of his emotions if he is in this state of apathy?"

Clark thinks about that for a minute.  "You're probably right."

"Of course I'm right," I agree smugly.  "I'm his mother."

"And you've done a great job of that," compliments Clark, although he sounds serious.  "Give it time, Chloe.  He'll let himself feel something again."

I don't offer any gesture of optimism.  "Even you didn't take this long before you found yourself crying into your mother's arms after your dad died."

Clark falls silent for a minute or two.  Great, now I have brought up a bitter memory.  "Johnny hasn't almost killed anyone," he points out eventually.

"True," I do take some comfort in that.  Although, a few weeks ago, I had to have Clark confiscate Johnny's Purple Arrow gear.  And his weapons.  Not because he tried to make ill use of them, but because he tried to destroy them.  "Though, right now he doesn't feel like a hero.  His eyes don't glitter.  He barely smiles.  Hell, he broke up with Aimee!"  

A new wave of sadness overcomes me as I think of when I saw Aimee walking away from my house.  That beautiful, dark haired girl that wore half-rim reading glasses that I proudly watched Johnny go from being best friends to being in a romantic relationship with.  Those hazel-brown eyes normally filled with joy and spunk whenever I saw her with Johnny, or just being in this house, quickly turned a few shades duller as I watched her walk away.  She barely made it to her car before she fell to her knees in tears.  I ran out and tried to comfort her.  Thankfully, she let me.  Smugly, I do feel that she has looked at me as a bit of a surrogate mother to her lately.  Especially as her relationship with her own mother deteriorated.  

Aimee had asked me, "Will you hate me if I call J.Q. a dick right now?"

I think more to my surprise than hers, I laughed.  Plus, I love that little nickname that she gave my son.  "No, Aimee," I promised her.  "No guy in their right mind would want to break up with you."  I wouldn't say my son wasn't in his right mind, but he has definitely become irrational in his grief.

Despite her usual cynical attitude, Aimee laughed a little and hugged me.  She had hugged me many times before, but still it was a strange and oddly special feeling being hugged by someone who wasn't even my daughter.

"How is Aimee?" asks Clark.

I sigh.  "She won't admit it, but I can tell that she misses Johnny," I explain.  "She's not some Bella Swan-esque whiny brat who can't live without a boyfriend," Clark laughs; _T_ _wilight_ is a book and movie that Clark, Lois and I have spent many long hours discussing everything wrong with it, "but she does miss Johnny.  If not as a boyfriend, she would love to at least be friends with him, but he's barely spoken two words to her.  Or to any of his friends."  If I'll be honest, I could compare the way she misses Johnny to the way I missed Clark whenever there were prolonged periods of time in high school and into our early adult years where we didn't get along as well as we should have.  However, I don't add that bit.

"Do we need to call in a code BFF?" offers Clark with a grin.

I laugh nostalgically.  "Boy, do I wish that this was as simple as throwing a bunch of water balloons at each other to get a smile out of each other."  I can remember Clark and I doing that to each other plenty of times growing up and Clark introduced that tactic to Johnny and Oliver when Johnny was five.  It was the first time the Johnny felt like a hero.  I wish something so innocent could make my son feel like a hero again right now.  

"I'm here, Chloe," Clark promises for the umpteenth time.  Although, strangely enough, it feels more and more special each time he says it.  How I could have used the reassurance when Jimmy died, instead of shutting the door on his humanity and cutting himself off from everyone in his life.  From me.  

"I'm sure Johnny will find a way to move on and be happy again," assures Clark.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Clark?" I ask him.

"Chloe you're my best friend; I don't think it can get more personal than that," he laughs.  "But, yes go ahead."

"Are over your dad's death?" I ask him carefully.

Clark is silent for a very long time and the only sound is the rain outside my bedroom window.  Finally, he sighs.  "I think about him every day--Mom too."  I remember when Martha died.  Johnny was the first person after Clark to see her dead body in that guest bedroom and Lois and I had sobbed into each others' arms.  It took time, but after Johnny convinced Clark to come home, he slowly started to feel happy again with the help of those who loved him.  

"Not a day passes where I wish I could see them both smile again," continues Clark.  "I miss those evenings where the four of us sat at the dinner table while Dad complained about bills and Lex's latest effort to win his approval and Mom and I just sat back and tried to argue some sense into him."  Yes, there was an impossible feat.  Jonathan Kent is--was--the most stubborn man I knew.  Wait a minute.

"Clark you said 'four,'" I observe.  

"The fourth was usually you or Lois," explains Clark happily.  Clark laughs.  "Talk about two  _very_ different effects at the dinner table."

I laugh too, though I also smile inwardly at the memories.  Usually, at least once a week, I visited the Kents for dinner as I was Clark's best friend and, if I'll be honest, I enjoyed Martha's and Clark's cooking.  Clark and I would get into endless conversations and sometimes we would forget to include Martha and Jonathan, much to their dismay.  Lois at the table...oh, my I can only imagine how she and Clark drove each other insane.  It's amazing they are both still alive!

"I can't change the fact that my parents are gone, Chloe," says Clark.  "Nor can I say that I'll ever stop finding myself thinking about them just a little bit every day.  All I can do is find a way to go on living and be somebody I know that they'll be proud of.  If Johnny is anything like me, he'll never stop missing Oliver.  He just needs to figure out how to let himself be happy again.  To let himself mourn for him everyday without letting it consume him.  And so do you.  And I'll help you in any way I can."

Fresh tears rumble out of me and I slip an arm around him and we hold each other as I sob.  I wouldn't call Clark a wise person, especially given some of the  _very_ foolish things he did in our lives, but sometimes he is able to offer me some advice that isn't lame.  Weirdly enough, he has offered some very helpful relationship advice over the course of my marriage to Oliver.  If I'll be honest, I would say it's because Clark has always known me in ways that Oliver never knew me, no matter how close we became.  

"Clark?" I dribble into his arm.  

"Hmm?"

"Will you have a water balloon fight with me?"

Clark gapes at me and I stare up into his eyes hopefully.  "Chlo, it's two in the morning."

I shrug.  "When did we ever care about what time of day it was when we started tossing water balloons at each other?" I ask him matter-of-factly.

Clark considers that for a minute.  Then he gets up from the bed and offers his hand.  I accept it with a smile and he leads me quietly through the house, past Johnny's bedroom and Thea's nursery and we head downstairs before we come to a stop at the back door, towards the pouring down rain outside.  

"Wait here," says Clark.

I obediently wait in my blue nightgown as Clark blurs away.  As per a habit I picked up from Johnny, I wave my hand from side to side, clicking my tongue in a metronome-like manner as I wait for Clark to blur back.  I barely count five ticks before Clark blurs back with a big bucket of water balloons.  With a grin, he slides the back door open and invites me to step out into the rain with him.  

I laugh nervously.  "I don't know."

"Chloe, you're going to get wet either way," Clark reminds me lazily.  He offers his free hand and beseeches me to take it.  The gesture brings up a bitter memory of when Clark, Oliver, Dinah Lance, and Lois were trapped in a virtual reality and I offered my hand out to Clark in an eerily similar fashion as I begged him to trust me, even though I had disappeared on him without any explanation.  If that wasn't enough, Clark tops it off by asking, "Do you trust me?"

My breath catches in my throat and I hesitate.   _It's just a bad memory! It's just a bad memory!_  I scream to myself over and over.  I make up my mind and I do what Clark failed to do all those years ago.  "Always," I reply and I take his hand.  Clark leads me outside and I squeal with surprise, joy, and dismay as I immediately become soaked.

Even though it's rainy, it's a very beautiful night.  No thunder nor lightning, just very rainy.  However, before I can really bask in the downpour, I gasp as a dull thud hits me from behind.  With an annoyed growl, I turn around just as another balloon hits me.  I scramble for the bucket of balloons and I narrowly miss another water balloon as I grab one and throw it in Clark direction.  I hit him square in the face.  Clark didn't use his superspeed when we were kids and he doesn't use superspeed now.

On and on, we throw water balloons at each other, laughing and growing wetter and wetter as we do so.  The rain pours, the balloons crash and explode, and we are suddenly fifteen again, simply trying to make each other feel good from the stress and heartache of life.  Eventually, we get down to the last balloon and it's us...and the balloon in between us.  We dangerously bore into each other's eyes as we shift our gazes from each other to the balloon and back again.  We break at the same time and become a tangle of hands and arms as we fight for the balloon.  It breaks in our hands and we both stop abruptly.  

We look back up at each other and despite ourselves, laughter rumbles out of our chests.  We stand up and shove at each other playfully.  Clark accidentally shoves me too hard and I lose my balance.  I almost land on my back, but Clark is faster and he catches me before I land on the ground.  Though that's not all he does.  Either I am really tired and not seeing things clearly or just simply hallucinating, but Clark...is... _kissing_ me!  My eyes ought to have gone wide, I ought to have let out some sort of exclamation of surprise, or tried to push him away, but I do none of those things.  I am just frozen as Clark's lips caress mine in a blinding passion that he has never bestowed on me.  

Eventually, he breaks away from me and he looks just as surprised as I feel.

He stammers out an apology as he lifts me back to my feet, saying he didn't know what overcame him and that he shouldn't have done it.  He bids me goodnight and before I can say anything, he blurs away.  

What can I say really?  I just stand there in the rain, completely oblivious to the rain falling me, the shivers that have begun to take hold, to my nightgown that now feels glued to my body by a strange mixture of rainwater and broken balloons, and...I feel like my mind had been obliterated.  Like somehow Clark's lips had fried my brain in a similar fashion his heat vision would have.

"Clark kissed me," I finally say to myself.  That's all could say really.  I am at a loss for words.  I am a famous and respected and sexy--Oliver's words, not mine--reporter and I am at a loss for words!  Words are my greatest weapon and right now I have none of them!  I'm too stunned to even smile about how far Oliver went with that "sexy" quality.  One time, little to my knowledge, he had nominated me for the country's Hottest Reporter of the Year to which I won.  Since he did it without my knowledge I took Johnny and Lois with me instead of him to that paid vacation in Monte Carlo.  

Shivering from the wetness, I trudge back into my house and don't even bother to worry about the trail of water I leave as I head back to my bedroom.  When I do, I head to my bathroom and peel off my wet nightgown and start a bath.  When the tub fills, I step in and welcome the warm water. 

"Clark kissed me," I say to myself again as the warm water soothes my skin.  It's not the first time we've had a steamy liplock, but it's the first that  _he_ initiated.   _He_ kissed  _me_.  I stare out the window.  I feel so guilty.  The more I think about it, the more I come to realize...I'm not guilty because he kissed me.  I'm guilty because I  _don't_ feel guilty if that makes any sense.  

Tomorrow's another day.

Maybe I'll forget about.

Hopefully we both will.

A night beginning with sorrow only to end in confused feelings.  Sounds like a perfect plot for an article in the gossip column.

I groan.

  


	3. Chapter Three

A few weeks have gone by since that kiss in the rain that I shared with Clark.  Or rather, it was more of him kissing me than a shared kiss.  He hasn't called me and nor has he answered any of my calls.  The worst part is that I don't know how he feels.  Does he regret the kiss?  Does he feel like he came on too strong, too quickly?  Does he feel that he had betrayed Oliver somehow?  Does he think I am upset with him for laying one on me?

I don't know how I feel.  I remember kissing him with similar passion when I thought I'd never see him again before he went to go stop Zod the first time around when he possessed Lex.  This wasn't that kind of situation.  We were just having fun, indulging ourselves with something that we knew would always put a smile on our faces.  In the weeks since, I still feel the ghost of Clark's kiss on my lips.  It wasn't a bad kiss either.  

In the times I've tried to call him, I usually found myself not knowing what to say when I start waiting for him to answer.  Even when I think beforehand about what I'm going to say, or if I go so far as to write myself a little script on what to say, my mind goes blank and whatever words I might have prepared suddenly feel like the wrong ones, or inadequate even.  Once or twice, I've considered jumping off of the highest building in Star City just to get his attention.  I know that no matter where Clark is in the world, he can always hear my cry for help.  Come to think of it, I can barely remember times when that quality was extended to people like Lana, or even Lois.  I do know that he seems to have Johnny and Thea LoJacked in a similar fashion.  

I can also recall a time or two when Lois shared her not-so-subtle jealousy over how Clark can hear me no matter how far apart from each other we are.  That was before she and Clark called off their engagement.  Try as hard as I might, whenever I start thinking about it, I can't stop wondering what happened that those two broke off their engagement.  A number of failed attempts to get married always seemed like a lame excuse, especially where those two are concerned.  In recent years, the only times I have seen them interact in any fashion other than how they were like when we were young was when Martha Kent passed away and the three of us shared memories of her over coffee.

_"Remember that time when we were still looking for Chloe right before your senior year and Martha saw us in the bathroom together?" asked Lois with a grin._

_Upon seeing Clark's face turn a bright shade of red, I became a bit curious.  "What're you talking about, Lo?"_

_"Smallville and I were running from the General and by the time we got back to his house, we were covered in dirt," she explained.  "Clark was in the shower and--"_

_"And Lois came in wearing nothing but one of my shirts," Clark finished for her with a grumble._

_"It was the only thing I could find that was clean!" argued Lois defensively.  "And then a couple minutes later, Martha came knocking on the door."_

Oh, no _, I thought to myself._

_"I answered the door and then Lois popped up behind me with a smile and said, 'Hi, Mrs. Kent,'" said Clark with a surprisingly accurate impression of Lois' voice.  Lois didn't think so, but I laughed anyway._

_"I think I can make a good impression of Martha's face," said Lois confidently.  Her eyes become very wide and her mouth drops open in a large_ O _.  It was actually a very good impression._

_Clark thought so too and much to my delight, and probably Lois', he laughed._

It still took quite a bit of time for Clark, and if I'll be honest, Lois and I as well, to recover from the loss of Martha Kent, but we eventually learned to be happy again.  

I'm not having that kind of luck with the loss of Oliver.  Johnny, the silly boy who went to the Arctic and threatened to possibly destroy the Fortress if Clark didn't come home, is having as much trouble as I am.  However, I doubt that he is having the same problems I am having right now.

I still have nightmares about Oliver, but lately they've been getting less intense.  Lately in my dreams, Clark has been entering the picture.  Sometimes, I end up dreaming about reliving that kiss and so much more.  Once or twice, I have woken up with my hand where it shouldn't be.  To make things more embarrassing, Johnny witnessed one of those and he was bringing me breakfast!  

There's another thing.  Recently, in the last few weeks as Johnny's eighteenth birthday has been looming closer and closer, he has progressed to showing displays of affection.  I still don't feel anything off of him, so his state of apathy is still there, but at least he's doing kind things, like playing with his sister and being a gentleman.  I think he's up to something, but I don't know what it is.  I don't feel like he's planning something, but rather it seems like there is something he's trying to hide.  Something that he might have been doing lately that he doesn't want me to know about.  I would know if he was doing drugs, and he hasn't shown any of those signs, so that is something I can rule out.  

I try to reach out to him every day, but I've learned not to expect much beyond the brief, meaningless conversations and the void I feel when I am too close to him.   I want him to feel joy again.  I've taken Clark's advice to heart about being there for him, but Johnny has never shut me out.  At least for not this long.  Once upon a time, I was either the first person he turned to for comfort when everything and everyone let him down, or at least I was the one person who could get through to him when everyone else failed.  If he would just hug me, that would be more than satisfactory at this point.  Or if I were to see a tear roll down his cheek.  

I don't even know what to get him for his birthday this year.  He hasn't offered me any birthday wishlist nor has he told me where he'd like to go for his birthday.  Johnny isn't difficult to please, but it's still nice to have some idea of what he'd might like.  Maybe while I'm in Metropolis, I'll figure something out.

That's where I am at right now.  I'm on a plane in the first class section en route to Metropolis.  I don't know why I decided to fly to Metropolis.  I have no reason to doubt that Johnny will behave and take good care of his little sister while I'm gone, so there's no issue there.  I guess I just really need to speak to Clark.  I miss him for one thing and I really need to talk to him about that kiss.

As the pilot announces that we are reaching Metropolis and asking us to fasten our seat belts, a wave of thoughts pass over me.  What if he dismisses it?  What if he says something like what I said all those years ago?   _It's not like I'm expecting us to hook up or anything_ _._ I still can never forget the look on Clark's face when I uttered those words.  The bewilderment, the hurt, the surprise, and I caused that.  Then again, he never fought for my affection either.  Other thoughts pass over me.  Am I betraying Oliver somehow?  My mind is playing a tug-of-war between feeling unfaithful and reminding myself that Oliver has...passed away and he would want me to move on somehow.  

Then again, a kiss can mean a lot of things.  When I first kissed Clark, I told him "I know you've been thinking about it all day, so I just thought we'd get it out of the way and be friends."  I've kissed a few more boys over the years, a few of them ended up trying to kill me and one of them was fooling around with Lana at the same time as me, but that one was quite possibly one of the most special.  Even if it was just a platonic kiss from an impulsive little girl who just traded the big city for cornfields.  When I first kissed Oliver...it was not a very meaningful kiss.  It was a kiss of pure and empty passion that led to what amounted to a "friends with benefits" relationship.  Oliver and I never told Johnny how our relationship began.  We always worried how he would look at us if we told him that we started out as just two people looking to have some fun "without strings."  

So caught up am I in my thoughts, I don't even realize that passengers have started filing out of the plane.  I grab the few things I brought with me as I am only planning on staying for a few days, and I head out of the plane.  One of Oliver's chauffeurs spots me and I ask him to take me to Watchtower.  

When I arrive at the building I find myself trembling a little as the elevator makes its way up to the top of the building.  Why am I so nervous?  Eventually, the elevator grinds to a halt and my view is dominated by the semi-circular doors of Watchtower.  Of the apartment that Clark and Tess share.  For some reason, I walk over and ring the doorbell.  There's one thing that was changed when the tower was rebuilt.  A minute or two later, the door swings open and I see Tess in her glasses. 

"Chloe," she greets, as much as in surprise as in politeness.  I still can't decide which Tess I like more.  The Tess I knew before she died, the Tess-bot that Johnny had nicknamed, or this Tess.  The clone of Tess who appears to be a twenty-three-year-old.  And who shares this apartment with Clark.  They have an interesting relationship these days.  Sometimes I can't tell if the vibe they give off is more of a father-daughter, a brother-sister, or just being very close friends.  

"It's good to see you, Tess," I greet back as she invites me in.  As I step in, I give the place a thoughtful look.  Still very spacious and still covered in lots and lots of high-tech computers, but there's a much more homey feel to it.  The kitchen area is more of an actual kitchen with a large stove and refrigerator for Clark to utilize his cooking skills, part of the upstairs area is closed off to form a bedroom which Clark uses and Tess uses the bedroom downstairs respectively.  To a point, the place reminds me a bit of how Clark decorated the loft in his barn which, which is run by Conner Kent despite the fact that Clark owns it.  Similar furniture, though a bit more on the expensive side given Tess's bank accounts which she somehow secured before she died.  Some of the things that do remind me of my tenure here are the large sectional couch in front of the stained glass window (which is unsurprisingly decorated in red and blue) and the coffeemaker.  

"Um, is Clark here?" I ask as I indulge myself with some coffee.  

"Actually, now that you ask, I was in the middle of helping Clark with a hostage situation at the  _Daily Planet_ ," replies Tess.  As if on cue, Clark's voice comes through one of the monitors.  

"Tess?  Where are you?" he asks a little impatiently.  Still, I feel a little jolt of excitement at hearing him.  

Tess and I share a look.  

"Duty calls," I say with a smile.  

Tess returns the smile and asks if I'd like to assist her.  I accept her invitation and I take a chair next to her.  For risk of throwing Clark off, I don't speak as Tess and I work in tandem.  A few morons had a whole bullpen at gunpoint and I wondered why Clark didn't just blur by and get rid of all their weapons, but Tess surreptitiously explains that the thugs had released some sort of kryptonite gas into the air.  I recall seeing something like that a few times.  A black market item for people trying to get past the Man of Steel.  Harmless to humans unless breathed in at copious amounts in which they might develop meteor abilities, but as expected, quite harmful to my best friend.  

"Alright, Captain Blue Bulge, I think I have a solution," says Tess as I show her the idea I gave her.  I have to stifle my giggles.  Ever since Oliver told me about that time when he and Clark had intercepted one of Johnny's earlier endeavors as the Purple Arrow, "Captain Blue Bulge" has been an on/off again joke within the Justice League.

"Enlighten me,  _Ginny Weasley_ ," Clark seethes.  Tess and I regard each other for a moment and my gaze shifts slightly to her wavy red hair.  It's not really much of an insult or a joke.  

Tess asks Clark if he has a good angle that he can trip the fire sprinklers in the bullpen.  It would definitely be a bit safer than trying to blow out the gas.  Too many human obstacles.  Looking through one of the cameras that Tess hacked into, Clark must have tripped the fire alarm as people let out obvious yelps of surprise at getting wet.  The gas slowly dissolves and soon Clark swoops in and gets rid of all the thugs' guns.  At that point, those guys seem to know better than to try and go up against Clark and they try to make a run for it, only to run straight into the police.  

Tess and I take off our headsets and share a relieved sigh.  Not a ten seconds later, a gust of wind blows my hair around, signaling Clark's return.  I turn around and my eyes fall on my best friend in his ridiculous red and blue suit.  

"Chloe," breathes, sounding unsure if he should greet me like a good host or if he's just too surprised to see me.  

Tess clears her throat.  "I just remembered that we are out of ice cream; I'm going to go buy some," she announces, grabbing her purse and heading out the door before Clark can stop her.

When she disappears, Clark looks back at me.  "We have ice cream."

I laugh nervously.  

Clark blurs away and returns a couple seconds later wearing jeans and a simple blue T-shirt.  "So," he begins as he heads to the refrigerator, "uh, what are you doing here?"  

Despite myself, I scoff.  "Do I need reason to show up at your doorstep?"  

Clark considers that for a minute as he reappears with a can of soda.  Eventually a smile spreads across his lips.  "No."

I walk over and take a seat at the small round table that Clark and Tess share.  "Actually, I, uh, I..." oh, my God, I'm sounding like him!  Usually he's the one unable to put a sentence together!

Although I expected him to laugh, Clark just takes a seat across from me and asks, "Are you here about that kiss?"

I shrug.  "And you haven't been returning any of my calls," if my voice came out whinier than I intended, I don't care.  Clark deserves it.  

Clark clears his throat and his eyes travel back and forth as he considers what he's about to say.  "Well, I'm sorry I haven't answered your calls, but as for the kiss, it..."

"It meant nothing?" I finish coldly.  "Don't you dare give me that bullshit."

Clark's eyes snap wide, but I hold his gaze.  I barely use such coarse language.  

A long silence goes between us and Clark and I stare hard into each others' eyes.  So many questions, so many unresolved feelings pile up as I stare into those baby blues.  I feel like I'm fifteen again fighting back a world of affection that I know will never be reciprocated.  But can it?  

I break the silence at lightning speed.  "Clarkdoyouwanttogotodinnerwithme?"

 


	4. Chapter Four

Clark’s reply to my high-speed question was strange. He didn’t answer me with a simple yes or no. He sat there across from me for a few minutes. Eventually, he reached across the table and grasped my hand in that affectionate way that only he does. A look of sad understanding spread across his face as he answered with “Someday.”

Someday? That was his answer? Before I could say anything he went on to explain that he understood that I was in an emotionally bad place at the moment. He apologized for kissing me that night, saying he didn’t know what came over him and that it was wrong for him to do so. I didn’t really know what to say. In my silence, Clark suggested that in my grief for my husband, I am not thinking clearly. By asking Clark out to dinner, I was desperately seeking companionship. He promised that he was willing to help me through this turmoil in any way he could, but he was not going to be a rebound.

Furthermore, Clark went on to remind me to think of Johnny and Thea. Thea is barely fifteen months old and so she wouldn’t be terribly concerned, but what about Johnny? He’s already in a bad place, barely showing any emotion, so what would happen if all of the sudden I was on a rebound—with Clark of all people? I’m not sure what Clark’s excuse is, but maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly. Maybe I am just desperate for a hug, or someone to hold me until all my sorrows are gone. Clark’s willing to do that—something I really could have used when Jimmy died.

And there I am, comparing both of my losses! Jimmy and Oliver—both of them dead and both of them men I was married to. Clark smiled and reminded me that that’s probably natural. It’s unfair that I have lost not one, but two men that I was married to. But, I’m a strong woman, in Clark’s words. I’ll find a way to get past this somehow and so will Johnny.

Finally, he adds jokingly, but seriously, “But I won’t be an escape for you to fool around with when you need something to distract you from the pain.”  
I guess that really separates him from Oliver. After Jimmy’s death and Clark’s abandonment on top of it, Oliver was available and, while I wouldn’t say he was a rebound, he was an escape. A fleeting escape from the loneliness that consumed me as I listlessly occupied most hours of the day watching people through monitors like Big Brother.

“Sorry, Clark,” I apologize, looking down.

Clark squeezes my hand a little more. “Don’t be sorry, Chlo. Grief makes us do silly things sometimes.”

Despite myself, I scoff. “Yeah, like you burying yourself in farm work, nearly killing a guy over your dad’s watch, saying ‘Clark Kent is dead’ whereupon you went goth, and abandoning the world and chilling in a secluded cabin in Appalachia.” Clark gives me an indignant look at my impression of his voice.

“First of all, I don’t talk like that, and two, that cabin is a really nice cabin,” he argues. “Don’t believe me? Just ask Johnny or Lois, or maybe I’ll even take you to it sometime.”

I’m not very outdoorsy, but I do enjoy opportunities to visit secluded places that only Clark knows of.

“How is Johnny?” asks Clark.

Grateful for the change of subject, I answer, “Same.”

Clark nods understandingly. “Sometimes I wish I was able to feel his meteor power. I always saw how it affected you, Oliver, Lois, Tess, and everybody, and it always left me a little jealous.”

I laugh. “You know, considering what that guy with the memory power did to you—senior year I think it was?—I worry that you might feel Johnny’s power a bit too intensely.”

Clark thinks about that for a minute. Then a small laugh escapes his lips. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

I feel my expression become a bit more solemn. “There have been downsides to Johnny’s powers. I never told you this, but think Oliver was always a little apprehensive of Johnny’s meteor power.” Clark frowns at that revelation. “You should have seen the way he reacted when my healing powers came back.”

“Wasn’t that the time when Johnny was shot to death when he was about fourteen, I think?”

I nod. Without realizing it, my hand goes up to touch my cheek a little. Oliver and I got into a heated argument that ended with me getting slapped in the face. I still don’t know about him, but I knew that Johnny was eavesdropping on the whole exchange from the other side of the door and if being slapped for the first time in our whole marriage didn’t upset me enough, knowing that Johnny was listening made it all the worse. Later, I would find him in the kitchen eating pie. I joined him out of comfort, but I needed some comfort food as well.

Clark must be reading my expression, because he frowns a little. “How did he react?”

Not willing to provoke any anger out of Clark over something that happened a few years ago, I don’t go into much detail. “Let’s just say that it didn’t leave Ollie in a very good mood.” I think Clark picks up a little on the unspoken message and solemnity mars his perpetually youthful features. I got to say, when Clark isn’t mopey or having fun, he almost looks his age when any sort of wisdom passes his features.

The moment of silence is broken almost as soon as it begins by the sound of the door flying open. “Could someone help me with these groceries?”  
Even as Tess spoke, Clark was on his feet and meeting her halfway as she carried a few bags.

“I thought you going to get ice cream?” I remind her.

“Oh, yeah I was just trying to give you to some space,” replies Tess. “But I still needed to pick up a few things for dinner.”

“Ooh, what are you two making?” I ask.

“Shrimp kabobs,” reply Clark and Tess as one as they start unloading the grocery sacks. Jeez, Tess was never a one with a huge personality when she was an AI, but since she’s been given a real body, she’s not only brought youthful charm into her personality—given the clone appears as a twenty-three-year-old—but also, as she an Clark continued to live as roommates, they have developed an almost sibling-like bond. Wryly, it makes me think of Earth-Two Clark, the one where Clark was found and raised by the Luthors instead of the Kents. I grimace just thinking about that idea.

“Will you be joining us?” asks Tess.

That question catches me off-guard. “Oh, I…um…”

“Chloe, really, it’s no hassle,” Clark assures me.

“But-but I don’t want to inconvenience you two and I…” I protest, but Clark comes toward me and smiles at me gently.

“Chloe, you might have asked me to dinner for all the wrong reasons, but you’re here and I know you can’t say no to my kabobs,” he says with a tempting grin. I can’t say no to his cooking period. “Besides, Chlo, when was the last time we actually had dinner together?”

Oh, way to go with that question, buddy. Now I think of it, I can barely count on one hand how many times we’ve had dinner together—without Johnny—since I was pregnant with Thea, nursing her, and during the brief time I was reunited with Oliver. Finally, I roll my eyes and smile at my best friend.  “You know what, why not?” I ask him playfully. “I guess you do owe me a long-overdue meal.”


	5. Chapter Five

If the residents and the remodel are no indicator, the Watchtower loft is quite different from when I was its owner.  As the three of us cook, I can't help thinking about how much better the loft smells.  When I was the owner, the loft always smelled of coffee and cheap takeout.  Now that Clark is the owner, with Tess as his roommate, coffee is a present smell, but also the smell of Clark's cooking and a few expensive Bath & Body Works fragrances.  I can actually come here for other reasons than for Watchtower business.  The loft has as many monitors as it did before it was destroyed years back, but quite a few of them can retracted into the wall, or floor, or ceiling.  It's a home and these days I daresay it offers a similar--if the same--vibe as the Kent house.

Over the last hour, Clark and Tess have gotten me laughing and smiling as we made kabobs.  When we get to chopping up vegetables, Clark, with a little bit of prodding from Tess and I, entertains us by chopping them up at superspeed.  I remember a time when he was wasn't very good at it and bits of vegetable would fly everywhere, making a huge mess.  He also broke a lot of knives as he would accidentally hit his fingers.  It would annoy the hell out of Oliver when it was our kitchen Clark was commandeering, but it beats the alternative.  I'd rather replace kitchen knives than see Clark cut his hands all the time...or even lose a fingertip.  I can only smile as I think of times when Johnny was younger and Clark broke a knife and he came to me or Oliver with the broken shards and that guilty look of his.  Johnny would laugh his head off and it was so infectious and innocent that I would laugh too.  Oliver would roll his eyes and try very hard to look irate.  

"But I just bought that set," he would complain.

Maybe it's because he's in his own kitchen right now, but Clark has not broken one his knives with the colorful blades (a gift from Johnny) and he manages to keep bits of vegetable from flying everywhere.  Sometimes he would stop momentarily and pick up a piece of pepper or whatever and toss it in my direction or Tess's.  

"Catch!" he says.

I've done this with him enough times that I catch the piece of green pepper with my teeth easily.  Tess and Clark cheer.

"Whoa, and Mrs. Queen scores again," Clark announces.  I'm not sure why, but now more than ever I wish he would not call me that.  

I ought to mourn Oliver more, but I don't.  At least not as much as I should.  There is a reason, but I haven't brought myself to share it with anyone lately.  Everything just happened so fast that I don't really know where my mind is.  I just have this constant feeling as if Oliver was here only a minute ago, followed by a giant mushroom cloud.  A minute ago, I was seeing Oliver again for the first time in months and introducing him to his infant daughter...now I am having to figure out what I am going to say to my daughter when she starts asking questions about her father.  What do I say about him?  Bully in high school, marooned on an island like Tom Hanks, a playboy who went to bed with a different woman (or women) everywhere he went, briefly dated my cousin, drank himself silly, started a "no strings attached" relationship with me, married me during a drunken night of fun where I also woke up in the morning in a closet in a trashy gown and missing my underwear, freaked out when my healing powers came back...?  No, that's all the negative.  I should focus on the positive.  Oliver was a hero.  Like any other hero, he had a lousy start, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but he grew into someone to be admired.  He was a great friend.  A loving father who always knew how to make his son feel like a hero when he didn't feel like one and always came to his archery contests.

I never told Johnny this, but while Oliver was proud to see Johnny grow into a fighter, what he loved even more was seeing him develop his journalistic streak.  Oliver has kept every award Johnny has ever won for writing contests.  Sometimes Johnny ventured into creative writing, but mostly he stuck to well thought out stories based on interviews and things going on in the world.  Another thing that Oliver has always kept were Johnny's piano recital awards.  Johnny never expressed interest in music school (though I do believe that if he really put his mind to it, he'd have a shot at Julliard) but he always took his piano lessons very seriously and has become a beautiful pianist because of it.  

It's a skill he did not get from me or Oliver, but I think that that's what we loved about it so much.  It is his God-given talent.

Oliver came back to us and disappeared again in an unfairly small time frame.  I felt guilty while he was missing the first time because we weren't in the best place and my becoming pregnant again--at forty-two--seemed like a stepping stone towards getting back to where we once were.  Plus, it made my heart smile seeing and feeling how happy and excited Johnny was upon discovering he was going to be brother.  I felt his meteor power so intensely, I felt years younger.  I might even say that the feeling was more intense than when I was given that job at the Daily Planet after high school.  Or maybe even when Clark asked me to Spring Formal.  

Oh, bad memory.

"Chloe, everything okay?" I'm snapped out of my reverie to see Clark staring at me worriedly.  I guess my mental trip down memory lane has put a less-than-positive look on my face.  

"I'm fine," I assure him.  Although, I don't think I convinced him or Tess.

Clark puts down the knife and steers me towards the sectional couch in front of the stained glass window.  Fresh sobs boil out of me as he cups my head.  

"Think I've filled my tear-shedding quota for the day yet?" I try to snark.  

A chuckle rumbles out of Clark's chest.  "I'd rather you weep than try to bottle up your grief."

"You remember that one time that Oliver walked in on you using our kitchen and he startled you so badly that...?"

"...that I accidentally singed his shoulder with my heat vision?" finished Clark with a laugh.  "I was trying to put a finishing touch on that batch of cookies I made.  Oh, my goodness, Oliver was so upset!"

"That was _before_ my healing powers came back and for three weeks, I had to keep him from trying to use his bow, lest he reopen his stitches," I laugh back.  My laughter dies again and I moan a little as I regard my friends.  "Right now it seems like there's nothing I can do without provoking a memory of Oliver.  I have dinner with Clark, it stirs a memory.  I grab a coffee it stirs up a memory.  Hell, I take a bath and it stirs up a memory and I..." I stop mid-rant and take in Clark and Tess's looks.  "Oh, too much information."

"Yeah," replies Tess.  She smiles a little.  "Come on, let's finish making these kabobs.  They'll put a smile on you."

I do my best to offer a smile, but I don't feel terribly convinced.  

"Why don't you let Tess and I handle the cooking," suggests Clark.   

I take up his suggestion and I occupy myself while they cook.  I walk over to one of the computer tables and go through the camera files until I find my house.  I don't spy on my family, but whenever I'm out of town, it calms my nerves to know if I have to call Clark and ask him to help my family.  Also, wherever I am, if Johnny's at home, I love the opportunity to hear him play his piano.  As I pull up some of the cameras around my property, I first take a moment to scan its perimeter.  I let out a sigh of relief and thanks when I fail to find anything out of the norm.  Then I look through some of the cameras around the house.  I find the housekeeper polishing the furniture in my office.  I see the gardener sweeping up leaves around the property.  There are quite a few trees on the property and at this time of year when the leaves are falling, Johnny has admitted to me that even these days he's tempted to jump into a pile of them.

I hope to see some more of that youthful streak sometime again.  I eventually find him in Thea's nursery in the rocking chair next to her crib.  I put my hand over my chest at the sight of him.  Johnny always brings some measure of joy out of me, but seeing him having apparently dozed off while reading to Thea with her in his lap...all I can do is smile at my children.  If I ever had any doubt that Johnny would be a great brother, I feel utterly stupid for having thought so. 

I have the video feed up on one of the larger screens and I hear Tess audibly gasp behind me.  In addition to her intellect, as far as her memories from her previous life prior to her robotic form go, all she really remembers is her childhood, her acquaintance with Clark and I, and the awful things Lex did to her.  I'm still not sure how that worked out, but I can imagine she feels a bit jealous at the idea of a loving brother.  I can't imagine Johnny ever wanting to put ocular implants in Thea, unless he really wanted to see just how angry I could get.  

"Mom used to fall asleep while reading to me," comes Clark's reminiscent voice behind me.  "Although in those days, it was stories like  _Where the Wild Things Are_ and countless other picture books.  Definitely not Harry Potter books."  I remember Martha reading stories Johnny.  Regardless of the lack of blood or what a slip of paper said, she was a grandmother to Johnny and he loved her as much as I did. 

"I hope he isn't too achy when he wakes up," I say worriedly.  I remember times waking up from having nodded off on an armchair or that rocking chair and waking up feeling very sore.  If Johnny is anything like me, sleeping in a sitting position, even if it's from falling asleep at the computer, is not the way for us to go.  It has to be a bed.

Suddenly, I inhale deeply.  "Those kabobs ready yet?" 

"Yes they are," answers Clark.  "If you want them hot, you might want to tear yourself away from that computer chair."  As much as I love watching my children sleep, even when it's not even their bedtime, I get up from my chair and join Clark and Tess.

The rest of the evening, I once again find myself laughing and smiling.  I don't really understand how, but Clark's heat vision always has a positive effect on the stuff he makes.  He doesn't cook with heat vision alone--other than s'mores maybe--but he always adds a controlled amount somewhere in the cooking process and it always adds intense flavor to everything he cooks or bakes.  Even without his heat vision, Clark has always been a better cook than Oliver anyway.  Oliver could follow a recipe, but Clark can be adventurous and usually end up with a delicious disaster.  

As we eat, we laugh about some of the stuff going on in Metropolis.  Clark whines pitifully about how he cleans up one mess only to see another one a few days later.  I tell him he needs a vacation.  He gives that some thought.  He does have plenty of unused vacation time from the Planet.  He's a workaholic and I swear to him that one or another I am going to get him to go on a vacation.  Away from the Planet and away from his blue tights.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" he asks me, waving his skewer at me.

"Whatever you want it to be, farmboy," I reply with a wink.  

"And I do have ways of keeping you out of here until you've had a week's vacation  _and_ proof that you went on that vacation," adds Tess threateningly.

Clark raises an eyebrow at her.  "It's not nice to keep roommates out."

"It's not healthy to not take time for yourself for more than a few hours at a time," I argue.  

Clark studies us for a minute or two.  "Are you two telling me to take a vacation?" 

Tess and I exchange a look before returning our gazes to him.  "Yeah," we reply.

Eventually Clark rolls his eyes.  "Well if my best friend and my roommate insist...I'll take a vacation.  After Johnny's birthday," he adds as Tess and I smile victoriously.

I check my watch.  It's getting late.  I tell them that I should probably head back to the Queen Tower and they bid me goodbye.  Before I leave however, Clark stops me.

"Chloe, I'm sure you came here for a lot of reasons," he says, "but thanks for coming."

Despite myself, I smile brightly.  "Of course."

"And don't let it be months before we have dinner together again," he warns, tapping my nose playfully.  

As I leave, I notice how...weightless I felt spending time with Clark and Tess.  Like a burden was lifted off of my shoulders just for a little while.  I feel some of that weight come back at the elevators descends, but it doesn't feel as hefty.  

Maybe I can find a way to move on somehow.  


	6. Chapter Six

_"Aunt Lois, will you please put down the camera!" laughed the little boy with a mess of blonde hair as he tries to shield his face from view._

_"Aw, does Johnny have camera fright?" drawled Lois from behind the camera.  She laughed as it earns her a glare from the boy's mother who is standing behind his chair.  "Oh, Chloe don't give me that look."_

A smile spreads across my face as this version of me rolls her eyes.

_"Mom, will you please ask Aunt Lois to get rid of the camera before I wreck it?" pleaded ten-year-old Johnny._

This version of me looks up in the camera's direction with a lazy look.  

_"Lois get rid of the camera before your godson breaks it."_

I laughed as Lois grumbled. 

 _"Fine, but_ after _we sing you 'happy birthday'," declared Lois._

_On cue, she lifted the camera and Clark and Martha appeared with a white chocolate cake with ten candles on it.  Johnny blushed as red as a firetruck as the people who love him started singing him "Happy Birthday."_

Well, almost everyone.  It was one of very few special occasions that Oliver ever missed and it wasn't because he was missing, but because he couldn't get out of a situation in Barcelona on time.  He came home a couple of days later with some amazing gifts for Johnny.  Today is Johnny's eighteenth birthday and Oliver's lack of appearance is not due to a drawn-out meeting or hero business, but because he is dead.  The three birthdays that Oliver missed--actually, come to think of it, those were the  _only_ special occasions Oliver ever missed aside from the eighteen months he was missing, followed by being in a coma--elicited anger and annoyance from both me and Johnny.  Last year, the fourth time he wasn't present, all we felt was what we hoped every day--that he would someday come home safely.  This time?  It just feel like Johnny's birthday celebration is missing a huge piece that's been lost in the ash heap.  

Watching this video now, as I sip my coffee and absentmindedly eat my pancakes, no tears rumble out of me.  If anything, I feel anger.  I smile nostalgically at the youthful, innocent face of my son at ten years of age, of Martha Kent, of Lois, Clark, and I arguing playfully, and of Lois smashing a little bit of cake in my son's face, but that doesn't completely quell the resentment I feel.  Every time that the camera pans out a little and I fail to see Oliver standing somewhere with his arms crossed and that proud look of his when he saw his son, I find myself squeezing my coffee mug too hard.  Even my coffee mug ought to be putting a smile on my face.  Johnny found it for me from a supermarket, or so he tells me, and in large black letters it says,  **My Editor is a Bitch**, followed by smaller letters along the bottom saying, "And I'm just a BAD-ASS."

A bit crass and Oliver tried to reprimand him for it, but I love it.  Johnny thought that it would always put a smile on my face when I needed one and, for the most part, he was right.  I could have used it when I was twenty-one and I had to deal with Grant Gabriel, who dubbed me "Chloster."  Each time I heard that nickname, I either wanted to throw a stapler at him or beg Clark to...teach him a lesson Kryptonian style.  Worse still was how he took a liking to Lois and she quickly overshadowed me.

"You should have been there," I hiss at the computer screen.

"Who should have been where?"

I yelp, followed by a jump where I nearly spill my mostly-finished coffee.  My eyes find Clark.  I look down and I see that I am still only wearing a bathrobe from my morning shower and my hair is stringy and...my robe isn't closed all the way.  The hills of my breasts are very visible as well as most of my navel.  I look to him.  Then to myself.  To him.  To myself.  

"Turn around!" I shriek as I cover myself up.   

Clark takes his time turning around.  

Here I was just sitting on my bed enjoying my breakfast and torturing myself over old videos and Clark walks in at the worst time.  He's seen me in just a bathrobe a few times, but usually I already know he's around and...I think after what happened last Valentine's Day in Metropolis, another one of the things that I don't remember, I have been feeling a lot more self-conscious about my body.  Especially where Clark is concerned.  I still can't believe I had sex with him--in Johnny's bed--and neither of us remember the encounter.  I felt so guilty that Johnny saw at least some of what happened.  I didn't ask him to go into detail and I probably never will.  All I know is that Clark and I, along with everybody at the Daily Planet's Valentine's Day party, became drunk with love potions.  Zatanna Zatara denies any involvement and at the same no evidence pointed to her either.

"Why are here so early?" I ask him as I get up and hurry over to my closet.  

"Your heart was racing," replies Clark simply, albeit worriedly.  "I-I got worried."

I think about that for a minute.  I was very angry and now that I realize it, my heart _is_ racing.  I take a deep breath and calmly I say, "Clark, I have told you hundreds of times, just because my heart is racing does not mean that I am in danger.  Only--

"--if you say 'Clark, please help me,' do I need to be worried," Clark recites lazily.  "Yeah, that's worked out _really_ well all these years.  I've even started thinking about my favorite and least favorites times that I've saved you during times where my name was never mentioned."

I stop for a second as I pull on a pair of jeans.  Crap, now I'm curious.  "What's your favorite?"  

From the other side of the door I hear Clark begin to laugh a little.  Now I'm _really_ curious.

"Well, what was it?" I demand.

Clark stops laughing just for a minute.  "That time when Johnny was having a little too much fun and he lured you into a trap and you found yourself hanging from a tree by your ankle."  

I gape at that.  I'd forgotten all about that.  Johnny was upset with me because I was busy and I wouldn't take a break long enough to enjoy pizza and a movie with him because it was just the two of us that weekend and he decided to do something about it.  While I was in the bathroom, he had discreetly taken all of my paperwork for an article--and my laptop--and left a note saying, "You want your stuff back, come outside."  He lured me all the way to the trees and I saw all my stuff piled neatly in front of me.  I rolled my eyes and I made my way towards them.  I really should have watched where I stepped.  I stepped on something, heard a click, and just as quickly I was swept off my feet and I found myself dangling three feet off the ground.  

Johnny appeared, clapping slowly.  "I warned you that bad things happen to workaholics," he drawled sweetly and sadly.  I just kept thrashing and thrashing and the next thing I knew, I was in Superman's arms.  

Before I could thank Clark for the impromptu save, he shook his head and said, "He warned you."

I was angry at them both, but at the same time I let Johnny talk me into pizza and a movie with him.  My anger soon evaporated, but I was still upset.

"How old was Johnny when he did that to you?" asks Clark.

"Fifteen," I reply as I emerge from my dressing room wearing jeans and a white blouse.  

Clark laughs.  "I guess teenage rebellion couldn't keep Johnny from having his movie nights with his mother."

I give him an indignant look.  "Nothing could make Johnny not want to have a movie night with me."  

Clark smiles at that.  Just then, I hear a scratch at my door.  Smiling, I go and open in it.  

"Hi, Artemis!" I greet the blue-eyed wolf-Husky mix as she comes into the room.  She sees Clark and gets even more excited as she goes to greet him.  Clark chuckles and gets on his knees as he strokes her white fur, her fluffy tail wagging happily.  The only part of her that isn't white are the brown markings around her face.  

"You know, Clark, it's Johnny's birthday and I don't think anything could ever top you giving that dog to him," I tell him proudly, albeit jealously.  When Johnny saw that puppy three years ago, he was so happy that, as per his meteor power, I suddenly felt as giddy as a teenage girl.  I'm forty-three and I still look twenty-five given my healing powers, but the years make me wiser and I start to feel older.  

"Johnny hasn't been rejecting her, has he?" asks Clark.  

"Thankfully, no," I reply.  Johnny has been shutting me out a lot, but I have never seen him shut out his dog.  

Clark looks up at me seriously and my features fall as serious.

I exhale.  "I know what you're about to ask and...and..."  

I watch as Clark gets up as strides over to my bed where my laptop is.  He opens the screen and my eyes never leave him as his expression slowly shifts from curiosity to solemn understanding.  

"This was one of the few birthday parties Ollie missed," he says.  "Johnny was almost inconsolable when you told him that his dad couldn't make it and you told me that you were running out of options.  I might have been a little impulsive, but..."

"You revealed that you were Superman and you offered to take him flying for the first time," I finish with a bright smile.  "When you two got back, he pretty much forgot about his dad's absence."

"You think Oliver would have protested if he were there?" 

I cock my head.  "You really think that I would let Oliver keep you from taking my son flying?" 

Clark considers that for a moment.  Then he offers an agreeing gesture of his hand.  Finally, his look becomes serious again.  "Is that why you seemed angry when I got here?  Because of those times that Oliver could have made it but didn't?"  

I sigh as I go to sit beside him on my bed.  "You know me too well, Clark Kent."  He slips an arm around me.  "Besides this year and last year, Oliver missed three of his son's birthdays and each of them involved the same conversation.  He would say, 'I am so sorry Chlo, but this meeting is going a lot later than I expected.'  I would say, 'But can't you cancel?  You've cancelled meetings and stuff with the JLA for things as simple as piano recitals.'  He would say, 'I know, baby, but they won't let me cancel this one.  Tell Jonathan Daddy loves him and I'll be home as soon as I can.'  And I look back now and it just makes me want to hit someone!  And I'm angry because I know that Oliver is not going to call me and tell me that he's _not going to make it to he is not going to make it to his son's fucking birthday party_!"  I scream that last bit, earning me an indignant whine from Artemis and a gentle squeeze from Clark.

"Chloe, I'm not saying that you aren't allowed to be angry, but you are forgetting one very important thing," says Clark soothingly.  

"Really, what's that?" I grumble.  

Clark uses his other hand to tilt my face up so I can look into his eyes.  God, those things are so beautiful!  "You're still here."

After several moments, I smile a little.  "You really are a superman.  It's not just all the Kryptonian perks, is it?"

"I try very hard," confirms Clark.  If I'm able to get a little bit of smugness out of him, then I really am a contagious woman.  Shame on me.

"How about we celebrate my son's birthday?" I offer.

"Count me in; otherwise I'll have to call Tess and tell her cancel her flight."

We get up and head out the door with Artemis in tow.


	7. Chapter Seven

As expected, Johnny's eighteenth birthday party was quiet and not the happiest.  When Tess got into town, Johnny at least smiled a little to see his friend and even hugged her.  Lois was unable to attend.  She was too ill to travel.  Based on her complaints via email, it sounded like she had picked up something while on vacation with Bruce Wayne.  They've been seeing a lot of each other.  Lois refuses to tell me anything, but I wonder if they plan on tying the knot.  If they do, I just hope that they don't spend the next five to ten years trying to hope for an uninterrupted wedding.  I still think that there was more to her breakup with Clark than just that, but it's a secret that they share.  And one that neither of them are willing to share it with me.  

We didn't offer Johnny much in terms of presents.  I gave him a new Nook with his favorite books on it, Tess got him tickets to see a new movie they were both interested in, and Clark tried to offer him very good tickets to the Sydney Opera House.  Upon seeing those tickets, Johnny closed his eyes solemnly.  He thanked Clark for the tickets, but given recent events, having shared a plane with a nuclear bomb that vaporized his dad, he's quite scared of flying.  I knew he knew that Clark would keep him utterly, if not obsessively, safe, but he said he'd much rather go flying when he wasn't so afraid.  I agreed with him and Clark understood completely.  Clark was never a caregiver to Johnny and I don't think Johnny ever saw him as a father figure, but now that I look back, I think that in some ways, Clark has been better to my son than Oliver ever was.  Clark has made it to every special occasion that involved my son.  Not that they were the only occasions he attended, but at least he made an effort to always be there for him.

Also for Johnny's birthday, his friends, including his ex, Aimee, sent him a video wishing him a happy birthday.  I'm not sure if they were expecting him to answer, or at least listen to their message, but he did.  It even put a smile on his face.  Even his little sister managed to babble something that sounded suspiciously like "Happy birthday."  I doubt she knew what she was saying, but it brought tears to Johnny's eyes.   _That_ brought tears to _my_ eyes.  It was the most emotion I'd seen out of him since his dad died.  I threw myself on my son in a firm hug.  He didn't just let me; he hugged me back.

I don't know if it was because of Clark's presence, or Artemis being silly and refusing to bring the ball back when Clark tried to play fetch with her (she's not one for fetch much) but by the end of the day, I realized that I had almost completely ignored Oliver's absence.  In fact, I didn't even realize something was missing other than the joy that Johnny usually feels when it comes to his birthdays.  I don't know if it makes me an awful woman or not, and I told Clark as much, but a part of me was relieved that Oliver was never coming home.  I didn't have that resentment in the back of my mind that always came when Oliver failed to show up for a family occasion.  The knowledge that I could just focus on my son's birthday without any angry words prepared for Oliver was...wonderful.  

Clark assured me that he didn't feel that it made me an awful woman.  These days, I can't tell if it's because he is just trying to cheer me up, or if he's glad that Oliver's gone, or if he is subtly making a move on me.  It's annoying because usually I can read him like an open book.  

Biggest surprise was when he offered to take me to the Sydney Opera House instead of Johnny.  Johnny had insisted that he invite someone else so that those expensive tickets didn't go to waste.  I reminded Clark that it was all the way in Australia.  Clark shrugged.  He's flown me across an ocean a few times and he reminded me of that.  He also reminded me that it had been awhile since we had had an evening to ourselves.  Just the two of us.  

Tess was staying the weekend so Johnny and Thea didn't have to be alone.  Johnny doesn't really need a chaperone, but I know that he and Tess really enjoy each other's company.  I'm not really into the opera, not quite like Johnny, but I shared his desire to not let his tickets go to waste.  When Saturday came, the day of the event, I found myself taking almost obsessive care in my appearance.  I daresay more care than any of the times I went to an event with Oliver.  Or even that time that President Pete Ross personally invited my family to dine with him at the White House.  I went to Johnny and Tess for help.  I thought Johnny might feel a little apprehensive of me joining Clark for the evening, but he seemed to have shared my view of it being a platonic evening.  There have been many occasions over the years where I went to my son for help when it came to figuring out what to wear and how to do my hair.  More so even than with Oliver, as my son has a much better eye for fashion.  He's also really good at doing hair, so I usually go to him when I need help with it anyway.  

I couldn't decide between a deep red satin dress with a halter neckline and a flowing skirt with a few black accents, or a single shoulder blue dress with a more figure-hugging, but equally flowing skirt with silver accents trailing the strap down to my left hip in a sash-like trail.  Tess and Johnny shared a look before giving both of my dresses a considerate look.  They thought they were both very beautiful--perfect, even if I was out of my way to impress the Man of Steel.  I turned to my son, hoping for a decision.  He told me that I should wear neither one of them.  What!  While Tess delicately took the dresses from me, Johnny got busy carefully sifting through the dresses in my walk-in closet.  I really did not appreciate my son going through my closet any more than he appreciated me going through his.  Eventually he found what he was looking for.  He came back out of my closet with a dress I hadn't seen or touched in years.  

It was a black halter neckline dress with ruffle straps and white beaded accents decorating the skirt.  It also had glittery black straps around the waist that tied off in the back into a bow.  Not really meant to hold the dress up, but to add to the overall complexity of the dress, yes.  It also came with a black silk shawl.  It was a dress that Johnny had picked out for me I think when he was sixteen.  It was for a gala and I had never worn it.  Oliver didn't like it.  But then again, Oliver never felt that black was the best color on me and I wasn't always able to get my way.  Johnny was very upset about that and, just to annoy his father, he didn't wear the tuxedo that Oliver had picked out for him.  He didn't even wear a tie.

I swore I saw the ghost of a smile in Johnny's eyes as he offered the dress to me.

"I think it's about time that you've worn this dress," he told me.  Tess seemed to like the idea.

I smiled at my son and wore the dress.  I also let him do my hair for me and I ended up with an elegant up-do.  I've never been one for hair lengths long enough to touch my shoulders except for maybe when I was twenty, twenty-one, and the shortest was when I was twenty-four right after I married Oliver (I'll probably never go that short again) but I do tend to have enough that I can decorate it.  By the time Johnny is done with my hair, it's piled on my head in an elegant up-do with a few loose strands.  Johnny convinced me long ago that I seemed like the kind of woman who could always pull of a few loose bangs.  At least when he's the one doing my hair, I agree with him.

Clark arrived sometime in the afternoon and he got tongue-tied.   _Wow,_ I thought.  Even at our Spring Formal, he never got tongue-tied.  Not to say that he didn't think I looked beautiful, but I couldn't recall ever putting him at a loss for words with what I wore.  He's done that several times with Lana and Lois--to my amusement and jealousy at times--but never to me.  

An "Ahem" sounded behind me and I turned to see my son staring at Clark.  "Are you going to stand there like a superpowered idiot, or are you going to be a gentleman to my mother?" he had asked, finishing with a raised eyebrow.

Tess joined him and said, "Yeah, Clark, are you going to stop looking like an imbecile?"

Clark glared at his roommate and she smiled at him before taking a bite of apple.  Clark turned back to me. 

"You...um...you look gorgeous," he finally got out.

"Gorgeous"?  There's an adjective he never used when describing me before.  It hit me with such force that I had to look down to hide my blush.  Even Clark's words can hit me with the same force as when he breaks diamonds with a casual squeeze of his hand.  There have been times where they have brought me to tears, but never before had they made me feel more like a woman than they did at that moment.  It further awakened that naive, intrepid reporter from a small high school office from many years ago.  

Clark's face had suddenly turned sour.  I asked him what was wrong and he complained that I was so beautiful and he didn't want my hair to get ruined from traveling with him all the way across the Pacific.  I could have sworn I felt Johnny's guilt flare up behind me.  I thought about it for a minute.  He could use his cape.  Clark's cape always seems to be able to stop a bullet the same as the rest of his outfit, why wouldn't it be able to protect me from the wind?  Clark gave it a moment's thought, but then he blurred away and returned a few seconds later with his cape.  He carefully wrapped it around me and I clung to him tightly as he shot up into the air and flew us across the ocean.  I've always loved flying with Clark.  I never understood why Lois complained when Clark offered to fly or run her somewhere, like to work when she was running late.  It's a wonderful feeling and it always reminded me of one of the reasons why Clark was so special.

By the time we got to Australia, I checked my phone.  The trip took us fifteen minutes.  Then I fished out my pocket mirror and checked my hair.  I smiled as I looked from my reflection to Clark.  My hair was perfectly intact.  Even if it wasn't, I'm sure I still would have felt beautiful.  

Clark dispensed of the cape somewhere safe and then he offered his arm as we attended the opera.  It was a beautiful performance and, although I don't completely share his love for them, I can understand why my son loves them so much.  The scores, the choreography, the performers themselves, and the sheer dedication that is put into putting on a show for thousands of people.  Sometimes, I really wonder how people are able to perform the way they do directly in front of an audience.  Endless rehearsals are an obvious answer, but to some degree they are under more pressure than an actor reciting his or her lines in front of a camera.  Those actors, even the best of them, can make a mistake and try again later.  Not stage performers.  

Every so often, I tore my attention from the performance just to stare at Clark.  His attention was purely focused on the performance.  How I found myself fighting the urge to stroke a loose strand of his neatly combed hair back in place.  His ear was mocking me, daring me to just lean over a little and blow in it just a little.  I barely even held onto his hand.  In that moment, that gesture felt like it would be enough to send shock waves throughout my body that would most likely bring that reporter straight up to the surface.  It was painfully beautiful.  Like watching a sunrise from the loft in a barn where I shared many memories with a Kansas farmboy who longed to be like other people.  To play football, to do stuff that the other kids did without having to hold himself back from displaying all the things that made him beautiful and special.  

Clark finally noticed me.  He asked me what was wrong in a hushed voice. 

My nostalgia and my moment broken, I told him that everything was fine.  

We enjoyed the rest of the opera in silence and after it ended, when we got home, we spent what felt like hours discussing it.  It reminded me of the days that we shared buttery popcorn and sodas at the dollar theater, where we would later discuss the ones we liked and moan and groan over the ones we hated, like "Why the hell did we see this?"

Clark and I just wandered back and forth in the lit garden paths of the Queen Estate and talked, enjoying each other's company.  Eventually, he looked down at his watch and said that he had to get going.  Before he left, I thanked him genuinely for the wonderful evening.  It was the best evening I had in...oh, God, I couldn't remember how long.  Probably since before Oliver disappeared nearly two years ago.

I went to bed that night with the first smile I had had in months.  I don't know if Clark considered it a date, but now in the middle of December as I stand here at the Daily Planet waiting for him to join me for a reporters' gala, I think I am beginning to feel that it was a date.  I went with him to that opera so that he didn't waste those expensive tickets, and so that we could have one of our nights together, but it was too...intimate to just be dismissed as one of those evenings I had my best friend all to myself.  Losing Oliver was hard, but in these last few months, I think I had made a big step in letting him go.  

I feel a  _woosh_ and I smile as I turn and see Clark.

"You think it's about time the people here saw a real team?" he asks offering his hand.  

I know what he is talking about.  I am only a freelance journalist, but times when I sought partnership in working on articles the Daily Planet offered me, I always went for the man who had been with me from day one at the Torch office.  One of the articles we worked on together, particularly one written about Lex Luthor following his brief and dramatic presidency over ten years ago, won us our first Pulitzer.  I would go on to earn two more Pulitzer awards in my life, but that one was the most special of them all.  It was one shared with my best friend.

I laugh as I take his hand.  "Given the articles that some of these people have written, I'd say they could use piece of our minds."  

He laughs too and we walk into the Daily Planet's ballroom.    


	8. Chapter Eight

I shift from one foot to the other as I wait for the elevator to reach the loft.  Clark and Tess have made themselves a nice home out of the Watchtower loft, but there are downsides to living in the tallest tower of Metropolis.  The numbers mock me as they slowly increase as the elevator ascends.  Each minute gone by is an inch of my patience gone away.  Finally, the elevator slows, before finally coming to a stop.  The door slides open and I lift the gate.  

About time.

I push the half-moon doors open.  I would have knocked, but the elevator I used only leads to the loft.  Clark and Tess have put a very long distance between their doorbell at ground-level and their welcome mat just outside the doors.  I have my own key.  

As I step in, I see that not many lights are on.  Some monitors, a few red and blue Christmas lights, the lights and twinkles of the ornaments coming off of the Christmas tree in the middle of the loft (Clark probably would have gotten a tree from somewhere in Canada or whatever, but Tess, wanting to go green, insisted that he just go for a really nice--and incredibly fake--tree from one of the outlets in town) and a booklamp with Clark sitting under it.  Tess must not be home, which I am perfectly okay with.

He tears his eyes from his book at the sound of my approach.  A glowing smile lights up his features as he sees me, though that smile is slightly blemished by concern.  He asks me if there's something wrong.

I assure him that nothing's wrong.  I just can't stop thinking about him.  

Several long seconds pass between us.  There's a fire blooming between us and I can't fight it.  I know he can't fight it either.  I step forward tentatively.  By now, I crossed the line between a friendly distance and a dangerously intimate distance.  All I have to do is reach up and grasp the dark thickness of his hair.  I don't do that.  Instead, I carefully settle both hands on the ends of his useless glasses and slowly pull them off.  Now, there's no barrier hiding guileless depths of those blue eyes.  I want him.  Plain and simple.  I want Clark Kent.  

I stand on my tiptoes and graze his lips with my own.  I don't back down.  I don't pull away.  I capture his lower lip with my teeth gently, begging him to respond, to give in to me, to let me show him everything I have to offer.  By the unfamiliar, but welcome pressure in my sides, which feel very much like Clark's hands, I have my answer.  Clark's lips attack mine and soon our mouths are tangled up in searing need.  A moan escapes from my lips and I push at him gently.  

Clark lands on the sectional couch and he brings me down with him.  I trap him between my thighs, not permitting him to break away from me.  I won't let him break away.  I can't let him walk away from me.  Not again.  

Suddenly, we are tearing at each other's clothes.  My hands work clumsily at the buttons of his shirt and soon I let out a sigh of pleasure as my hands find the smooth skin of his chest.  I feel Clark's hands on my skin as well, slowly working his way higher until his fingers find the clasp of my bra.  He breaks away from me for a minute, his eyes questioning.  In response, I rub against him and his fingers unclasp the garment.  Now there are no barriers between our upper bodies.  My body shudders with delight as my breasts graze Clark's flesh.  

Clark pushes at me a little and rolls over me and--

_CRASH!_

 

"Oof!" I wince.  I open my eyes and roll over onto my back.  An audible exhale escapes my lips as I look to the right and see my large bed towering over me.  Judging by the amount of light, I'd say that it's morning.  I untangle myself from the sheets and blanket that came down with me and I glance down at myself.  One of the straps of my nightgown is shoved halfway down my arm and my nipple is peeking out.  Also, the hem of my nightgown is shoved halfway up my legs.  Then I glance at my hands.  

The hands that felt like Clark's.  Seems even dream-based orgasms are an impossible feat for a widow.  With a grumble, I get to my feet, straightening out my nightgown and returning my sheets--and one of the pillows--to the bed.  I give it a considerate look.  More and more, lately, that bed has been feeling...alien to me.  It was a bed I shared with Oliver and now it just feels like another miserable reminder of what I used to share with him.  To be fair, there's only a small number of things in this house that I don't feel a sense of...disinterest anymore.  It's like lately, ever so slowly, I have this sick feeling that I am an intruder in a house that doesn't belong to me.  

A part of me wishes Oliver were here.  Maybe his presence would help these feelings evaporate.  Maybe sharing that bed with him one more time would make it feel less...filthy.  Another part of me wishes I could punch him.  Just the other day, I was looking at a photo of the two of us at our wedding.  The wedding that Clark talked us into having in the hopes of easing our conscience when raising our children and when they started asking us about how we met and what it was like to be married.  We shouldn't have had to worry about that.  

"Best decision I don't remember making," Oliver once told me long ago.  At the time, it was one of the sweetest things anyone ever said to me, when all we could do was laugh about the awkward night that no one remembered.  However, as time went by, we tried to ignore it.  Each passing year as our anniversary came again and again, awkward glances and the giggles of an inside joke were to be expected.  It shouldn't have been a joke!  Everybody fantasizes about their own weddings at some point in their childhood.  My wedding fantasy once involved a buffer, corn-fed stud with darker hair and my name attached to a Pulitzer Prize, or even Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet.  Either the wedding itself took place inside a barn (which actually happened for me, but I was possessed by Brainiac) or small church inside Metropolis where my parents got married and my husband and I would share a stolen kiss under the golden globe atop the Daily Planet.

No, none of that.  Instead, I get waking up, tumbling out of a closet wearing a hideous wedding "gown" and no underwear with no memory of the previous night save for sharing a toast with my friends at the Kent Farm.  Flashes of every memory involving that night crashed down on me and with a growl, I threw that photo of my...guilt wedding against the wall and basked in the sound of its smashing.  The rest of the photos from that day soon followed and eventually I slumped down, away from the mess of glass and I waited for the tears to come.  

I glanced down at my hand.  Four-karat Harry Winston diamond ring.  Not even an engagement ring.  Just the wedding ring.  A real ring, not from a vending machine and it never even involved Oliver getting down on one knee and asking me to marry him.  I removed the ring from my finger and got up.  I found my jewelry box with all the necklaces, earrings, and bracelets Oliver ever gotten for me and regarded all of them.  Ornaments from a man who once upon a time would come by my apartment over the Talon, have his fun with me, briefly distracting me from the loneliness in my life, before leaving again.  I closed my eyes as I set the ring in the box.  Then I took the box and put in a meaningless corner of my closet.  

"Bye, Oliver," I whispered to the box.  No tears came tumbling as I got out, found a broom and dustpan and started cleaning up all the glass. 

Standing here now as memories from a dream that felt like many dreams I had when I was in high school, more and more objects I once cherished at one point or another, feel ugly and ostentatious.  This is Oliver Queen's home.  The last time I felt most at home was the reporters gala Clark and I attended at the Daily Planet a week ago.  Chloe Sullivan.  Daily Planet.  Those are two things that belong in the same sentence.  I remember a conversation I once had with Clark,

_"So who was I in your alternate universe?" I asked with a bright smile, attempting brighten the mood.  "Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet, or a...Pulitzer Prize winner, maybe?"_

_"Something like that," replied Clark shortly._

Well, the latter became true three times over and the first time was shared with my favorite guy in the whole world.  There's another thing, I think to myself as I shrug on my robe and head downstairs to the kitchen.  I called Oliver "husband", "honey", "baby", "hot stuff", "my knight in shining leather", but never "my favorite guy in the whole world."  On some level, I think I always knew Oliver would never replace Clark.  Not any level.  But I gave Oliver my whole heart.  I gave him nineteen years of my life.  I gave him Johnny and Thea.  If anybody can compete with my "favorite guy in the whole world" it's definitely my son.  

I reach the kitchen and I find Johnny and Thea.  At the sound of my approach, Johnny glances up from attempting to feed his little sister.  

"Morning Mom," he says with a smile.  Weirdly, that smile looks a bit forced.  Forced emotions aren't uncommon where my son is in these last few months, but something about this smile feels like...sadness.  Strangely, it fills me with delight because it means he's letting himself feel something again.  But something about that sad smile makes me feel like there is more to it than just his dead father.  

"Wait, Thea--!" he suddenly exclaims.  I have to stifle a laugh a bit as his little sister tries to shove the little jar of baby food off of her booster seat.  Luckily, Johnny catches it before it hits the ground.

"Nice save, buddy," I comment with a smile.

"Thanks," mutters Johnny.  He regards the little jar and his sister somewhat.  "Do you think you might have more luck than me?" 

This time, I let the giggles come out.  "I'll see what I can do, you big baby," I tease.

Johnny raises an eyebrow as he gives me a sideways glance.  "Who's the big baby?  Me or the cute little twerp you've forced me to call my sister?"  He gestures to the toddler.  I know he loves her very much, so I know that he's only teasing when he insults her like that.  I have to suppress my delight at the humor my son is bringing into the room.  When was the last time he did that?  

I regard him and the sixteen-month-old girl.  Finally I smile smugly.  "I don't know; both of you are my babies and big or small that'll never change."

A laugh escapes Johnny's lips.  I can't hold myself back anymore.  I hug him fiercely.  He has such a beautiful laugh and it's music to my ears.  His arms encasing me sends a sensation slithering through me that, while not making me feel my age, makes me feel like a mother.  Not only a proud mother, but a loved mother.  

"You want me to make you some hash browns?" asks Johnny.  I wish I could say that the fact he loves me is the only reason that he would offer to make me breakfast, but there's also the fact that I am a terrible cook.  I can make pancakes, ramen, and eggs, but beyond that I stay away from the kitchen.  To be honest, Johnny is the best cook in the house and it's mostly because of lessons from Clark and Martha Kent and using those basics to work his way from there.

"I guess an old woman needs something to go with her coffee," I reply.  

Johnny rolls his eyes.  "You're not old."  And he's right.  With each passing year, I am finding it more difficult to convince people that I am the mother of an eighteen-year-old and not just a sixteen-month-old.  I once considered coloring my hair a little bit with streaks of gray, some makeup, anything to make myself look like a forty-three-year-old woman, but I could never bring myself to do it.  And it certainly didn't help that I could tell Oliver was never fond of the idea.  Not because he didn't love the way I already look, but because it was a poor distraction from the fact that I would have very likely still looked twenty-five while the creases and grayness of age marred his features as time wore on.  It never concerned me and there was a time when it didn't seem to concern Oliver, but it slowly became a concern as the notion went from transparency to an elephant hiding behind a stop sign.

As Johnny gets busy with shredding potatoes for hash browns, I flick on the news as I attempt to feed my daughter.  I succeed, but soon the newsreel tears my attention away from her.  

" _...Lex Luthor, former President of the United States and CEO of Luthor Industries was arrested today along with many others, including Cynthia Waller of the shadowy agency known as Checkmate, on several accounts of conspiracy and crimes against humanity..."_ While Johnny was busy making hash browns and whistling to himself, I drop the spoon I was using to feed Thea.  I just sit there, frozen for a minute as several clips of things done by Lex Luthor and Checkmate fly across the screen.  Some of them I knew about, one of which was the likelihood of Oliver's murder as well as 33.1 projects involving experimentation on the meteor-infected, though there were many more that I had no idea about.  

I can't move.  I can't seem to find any words.  Whether he's actually involved in my husband's abduction, experimentation, and eventual murder or not, I'm happy to see Lex Luthor in handcuffs, but how?  How was it done?  Clark and I have exhausted ourselves over the years trying to get Lex Luthor to answer for his crimes, but never were we able to find anything concrete that would get him convicted.  At least nothing before it was destroyed.  The phone rings and it catches me so off-guard that I jump, nearly falling off of my stool, but Johnny catches me before I hit the ground.  

"Please _try_ not to get yourself hurt before you have breakfast?" he implores.  

Sweetie, I already failed to do that this morning, I could say, but why ruin my son's day by whining about a wet dream before it became a _wet_ dream?  "I'll try my best," I promise as I steady myself and grab the phone before it goes to voicemail.  

"Clark," I greet.  

"Have you seen the news?" he asks, sounding as excited and flabbergasted as I do.

"Yeah, it's...it's..."

"Weird?  Awesome?  About time?  Amazing?  How?"

"All those words sound about right," I tell him as Johnny finishes up the hash browns.  "Do you have anything to do with it?"

"I wish," replies Clark.  "What about you?"

"I have no idea how this happened, but..." I leave the sentence hang.  Lex Luthor had caused us both enough trouble and grief over the years; there's no words that can describe how we feel about this.  No doubt, Tess is celebrating with Clark in their own fashion.  "We should celebrate," I offer impulsively.  

A long stretch of time passes before Clark answers.  Finally, he says, "Sounds great."

"Great," I agree with a smile.  "Maybe this weekend?"

"This weekend is Christmas," Clark reminds me.  "I can just come over for Christmas."

"Or I could come to Metropolis," I quickly object.  I like an excuse to get out of this house.

"Sounds even better," I can hear the smile in Clark's voice and at this moment, I would love to just see it.  Of course, I can ask Clark to come over at any time, but right now, it just doesn't feel right.  "Hey, uh listen, there's a construction site accident I have to take care of, but I'll call you back later today."

"Okay, talk to you later," and I hang up the phone.  Almost as soon as I hang up, though, a crash sounds and I see somebody flying through the kitchen window.  Somebody else grabs me from behind and my instincts take over.  A nightgown is not ideal clothing for hand-to-hand combat.  Johnny tries to join the fighting, wasting time turning off the burner and taking the hot skillet and using it as a weapon.  He hits one of the men in black over the head with it an a very sickening cry of pain erupts from him.  Concerned for my daughter, I yell at Johnny to get her out of here.  He sees that I need his help, but,

"GET THEA OUT OF HERE  _NOW_!" I shriek.  Knowing that this is no time to argue, Johnny scoops his sister in one hand and fights his way through a few more thugs with the still-hot pan.  

I manage to scramble for a kitchen knife, but just as I reach it, I feel a sharp sting in my neck and everything goes black.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who haven't read the Sullivan-Queen Diaries, Cynthia Waller is basically Arrowverse Amanda Waller. In this story, she's Smallville Amanda Waller's daughter and I borrowed the first name from the actress that plays her in Arrow.


	9. Chapter Nine

I awaken to the feel of icy water splashing on me.  As my eyes slowly swim into focus, I notice a few things.  My head feels like it was kicked by a horse, I'm still in my--now dirty--blue nightgown, and I am strapped to a chair.  I have to squint at the bright light, but eventually I'm able to make out a few human-shaped figures.  

"Where...where am I?" I manage to ask.  

The question is answered by a vicious backhanded slap across my face.  "We ask the questions," replies the feminine voice.  I watch as the woman walks back a little and pulls up a chair, sitting on it backwards.  I now that I have a good look at her, I don't recognize her, but I do recognize the patch on her arm.  Checkmate.  

"Look, I had nothing to do with Cynthia Waller and a bunch of Checkmate being arrested," I explain calmly.  And it's the truth.  "So, there has to be a misunderstanding here."

"Oh, I'm sure that you have nothing to do with it," agrees the pale-skinned woman.  I do think that her eyebrows could use some plucking.  "I wish I could say the same for your son."

At the mention of my son, my chest begins to rise and fall slowly as the woman's throat becomes very inviting, begging me to wrap my hands around them and squeeze.  She's damn lucky I'm strapped to this chair.  However, my curiosity is peaked a bit.  "What does my son have to with anything?" 

The woman smiles a little.  "That is an excellent question, Mrs. Queen."  That name is really beginning to feel like it shouldn't be attached to me.  "Let me tell you a story."  I'm really not in the mood.

"Once upon a time, in the not-so-magical land of Star City, California, there was a man of great wealth and power.  By day, this man was a shrewd businessman, head of a thriving company, and a boring family man for the tabloids, never involved in any sex scandals and expensive DUI's.  By night the same man moonlighted as a Robin Hood wannabe complete with green leather and a bow, protecting the citizens of this city and stealing money and priceless items from people who didn't earn it."  

"I was kidnapped to hear a bedtime story?" I snark, followed by another backhanded slap.  

"No interrupting," the woman commands.  "So one day, the Robin Hood wannabe kicked a beast too hard and that beast decided he'd had enough.  The beast teamed up with another beast and one day, before New Year's Eve, the Robin Hood wannabe was taken away before he could get home to his pregnant wife and son.  Did the beasts kill him?  No, that would have been a huge waste of potential.  The Robin Hood was kept in pitch black isolation for weeks before the beasts decided it was time for him to come out again."  This sounds very much like what Oliver told us about what happened following his kidnapping.  "When the beasts decided it was time for Robin Hood to come out again, he was given a chance to work for the beasts.  He foolishly refused.  If he wasn't going to work for them willingly, he could still be a guinea pig."

I may no longer wear my wedding band and my feelings for my late husband may not be as strong as they once were, even before he died, but I still feel ready to breathe fire.

"One of the beasts made a deal with the beast that recruited Robin Hood and a device was developed that would control him.  It would limit his amygdala responses and make him completely susceptible to commands.  If he tried to disobey, his head would explode in immense pain.  If he disobeyed too long, eventually, that pain would have killed him.  Over time, Robin Hood learned to obey his masters and eventually, it became little more than an accessory in his head.  Still, disobey and pain is the answer.

"At some point, the beasts discovered that there was a new archer running around the streets of Star City.  This one preferred purple and black and a tough leather tunic instead of tights.  The beasts also discovered that he happened to be the son of Robin Hood.  What better way for a long overdue reunion than for Robin Hood to try and kill his own son?"

If I had super strength, I would tear myself from this chair and skewer the woman's eyes out with my bare hands.  

"So on a nice afternoon when the boy was out having a romantic time with his girlfriend, Robin Hood struck.  The boy put up a significant fight, but not before Robin Hood managed to injure him.  Sadly, before Robin Hood could finish off his own flesh and blood, Metropolis' finest came to the rescue.  On a positive note, Robin Hood was shed in a negative light with the media.  

"Not long after, the beasts lost their asset when Robin Hood went missing.  A nasty argument between the beasts followed as the device in Robin Hood's head had no GPS."  I take comfort in that.  "All we could do was try to control it from our consoles, but we could never tell where he was and at some point, we lost the signal altogether."  That's because he was in an induced coma, you bitch.  "Eight months past and Robin Hood's son took things a bit too far when he decided to hack the device, permanently ruining it with a computer virus, and destroying all the research.  The beast who provided the device broke off his partnership with the other beast and that angered the latter.  An example had to be made.

"The beast, let's call him...Lolo," despite the situation, that makes me giggle a little, "already made an example of Robin Hood when he blew him up in a plane.  It was quite clever.  Making him share the jet with his son and force them to choose who got to live and who piloted the plane away from Star City.  The beasts didn't have to know Robin Hood's son to know that he was broken and dead inside.  The other beasts, let's call them...Chess, decided to use him.  And he was more than willing if it meant getting back at Lolo."

"No..." I whisper.  Johnny--my Johnny worked with Checkmate? 

"Yes, and he was a very good asset.  He tortured people for information, sexually abused them if they were women, he even pulled a man's teeth out one by one until the man gave us the information we needed.  He even killed people without a second thought."

"Shut up," I hiss.

"Your son is a  _monster_ and all we did was get him to show it.  Great work for a cowardly hero who acts as the eye in the sky."

"I said  _SHUT UP_!" I scream.

Just then, a loud crash sound, making both me and the woman jump.  The one-way mirror was shattered and there stood Superman.  

"Clark," I breathe, too quietly for the woman to hear.  Wait, why isn't he helping me?  Why hasn't he silenced this woman?  Then I see it.  Kryptonite emitters are all over this room and all I can do is whimper as Clark is brought down to his knees.  

The woman gets up and laughs as she goes to stand over Clark.  "Ms. Waller told me once that years ago, Checkmate tried to recruit you, to get you to work with the people who only live to serve the States.  Now look at you.  A man--no an  _alien_ \--who can stop a bullet, stop a freight train with your bare hands, outrun an SR-71, blow away a hurricane, and roast marshmallows with your eyes, and all it takes are green rocks to bring you to your knees."  The woman looks up at me.  "You go from a Robin Hood wannabe to an alien.  You have very poor taste in men."

Suddenly, the door flies open and what I feels like an old friend.  Light, but protective black tunic-like leather coat with purple outlines with a connecting dark purple hood over a black shirt made of equally light, but effective armor-like material that can save him from a slash or a passing bullet, black leather gloves with little pockets all the way around the wrists with little darts, black pants and black leather boots.  He never went for high-tech sunglasses like his father, but he does cover most of his face with a black mask.  His weapons consist of the yew bow Oliver gave him for his fourteenth birthday, purple-tipped arrows, his katana, and an electric collapsible bo staff.  I never thought I'd see my son wear that outfit again.  Clark must have given them back to him.

"Help us," I plead.

Johnny locks eyes with me and from beneath the cowl of his hood, I see pain in his green eyes.  

"Agent Purple, what a waste," says the woman, grabbing a sword.  Agent Purple?  Well, it's less ridiculous than when Oliver--while he was still under the influence of the parasite--introduced himself as "Agent Green Bean."

"Checkmate's finished, Sarah," says Johnny in a distorted voice as he gets out his katana.  "What's the point in this?"  

"For your mother to see what you are," replies Sarah and she lunges for Johnny.  She must be between the switch that controls the kryptonite emitters.  My gaze shifts between Superman curled in a ball and my son fighting off what turns out to be his former colleague.  I'm in danger of losing one or both of the men left in my life that I truly care about.  

"Chloe," Clark says to me weakly.  My eyes lock with his.  Oh, God, I'm about to lose him.  I can't lose him!  I lost a man I was married to.  I  _can't_ lose Clark Kent!  My Clark Kent, I silently whisper to myself.  He's fading.  I'm losing him.  

"JONATHAN SULLIVAN-QUEEN!" I scream.  My son stops momentarily to lock eyes with me again.  "Quit reenacting  _The Princess Bride_ and get Superman and I out of here  _now_!"  

"As you wish,  _Buttercup_ ," Johnny snarks.  I narrow my eyes dangerously and Johnny redoubles his blows.  He soon gains the upper hand.  Not just with his sword-fighting skills, but also with his meteor power.  I assume it's his meteor power, because I feel an involuntary amount of aggression even though I am  _voluntarily_ feeling fear and worry for the men I love.  My son is letting his meteor power surface.  I watch the woman named Sarah as she tries to fight my son.  I through the blinding movements, I see her body slowly shift in its responses.  I begin to hear whimpers coming from her.  

Johnny is making her feel fear.

I still wonder why Johnny doesn't have the same powers as me.  All that's common about them is that they are empathy-based.  I'm an empathic healer and he spreads his emotions onto others.  He doesn't feel _their_ emotions, but he can make them feel his emotions and sometimes ten times stronger than however he's feeling them.

The woman named Sarah eventually loses her momentum and Johnny knocks the sword out of her hand.  He points his katana directly over the woman's throat.  They slowly spin around so that Johnny is by the switch.  

"Go ahead, Purple," sneers Sarah.  "Kill me."  

Johnny locks eyes with me again and he sees my look.  You're not a killer, my eyes tell him.  I don't know what Checkmate did to you, but you are not a killer.  Johnny turns his attention back to Sarah.  "Get out of here, Sarah," he softly commands as his gropes behind him with his free hand until it finds the switch.  He pulls it down and the kryptonite emitters slowly power down.  With one last look, Sarah rushes out of the room.  

When she disappears, Johnny rushes over to me and removes my restraints.  I don't throw myself on him when my hands are free.

"Thea?" I ask frantically.

"Thea's fine, Mom," Johnny explains calmly, lowers his mask and hood.  "Clark flew her to Metropolis; she's with Tess."  I see tears begin to roll down his cheeks.  "I'm sorry, Mom."

I cock my head.

"I was stupid and angry and hurt and Checkmate maybe me an offer," now he's sobbing.  "They made me do terrible things oftentimes at gunpoint and if I didn't do them, you and Thea would have been blown to hell, but I swear to God, I never murdered anyone that they told me to kill, and I just had to make them answer for their crimes and--"

I press my finger to his lips.  "You exposed Checkmate and Lex Luthor?"

Johnny shrugs.  "Uh, yeah?  Somebody had to."

Tears of pride and joy brim in my eyes and I pull my son into a tight hug. 

"Shh, my love," I soothe as Johnny jerks with sobs.  "You were a victim, but you're free now.  I couldn't be prouder of you."  There's one part of the story Sarah missed.  Robin Hood's son cut his strings and destroyed both beasts.  

Johnny tightens his grip on me and I tighten my grip around him as well.  Some of his sobs turn into giggles.  "I told you, Clark.  You might be the muscle, but I'm the brains.  Now aren't you glad I didn't let you claim all the glory of saving my mother?"

At the mention of Clark, I remember him and I see him standing up slowly.  Johnny breaks away from me and rushes over to him and helps him.

"Hey, hey, easy does it, Clark," says Johnny.  I get up and I meet Clark as he steadies himself.  Our eyes lock.  I almost lost him a couple of minutes ago.  His eyes tell me that he almost lost me.

"Oh, for God's sake!" I grab fistfuls of his blue tights and I drag him down to meet my lips.  He muffles out a surprised squeal, much like the squeal I made when he kissed me in the rain a few months back.  Though, Clark does not pull away from me.  His mouth slants to give me better access and his hands settle on my waist.  My hands snake upward until they are tangled in the dark thickness of his hair.  The last time I remember kissing him anything like this was when I thought I would never see him again and he went to fight a Zod-possessed Lex.  No, this is hotter, more fiery, more passionate.  He's kissing me back!  I feel an icy wall breaking down inside me and a familiar sensation is beginning to take hold.  A sensation that plagued me from the day I met and kissed that lanky farmboy in the eighth grade.  

I think I am starting to feel like Chloe Sullivan again.  

Clark and I break away from each other and all we can do is stare into each other's eyes.  I want to tell him I love him so badly, but a lump forms in my throat and I notice Johnny standing not far from us.  

Oh, my God, I think to myself as Johnny's gaze shifts from me to Clark and back to me again.  Despite his tear-stained cheeks, he doesn't look betrayed--why?--his eyes and lips are set in a thin line as he regards his godfather and I.  He seems resigned if anything.  Why isn't he angry?  Why isn't he turning the kryptonite emitters back on and cranking them so high that Clark would die in minutes?  Why doesn't he seem hurt?  Or shocked?  Or the least bit upset?  

Was he expecting this?

Either way, Chloe Sullivan-Queen takes over again and I look back at Clark.  "I'd like to go home."

Clark--and Johnny--give me a surprised look, but Clark scoops me up and speeds me to my house and Johnny soon follows.  Not long after, he comes back with Thea and eases her into my arms.  Before I can say anything to him, Clark leaves again.  I just stare at the empty space in my living room for several long seconds. 

"Mother," my head whips around and my eyes land on my son with barely-suppressed scowl marring his beautiful face.  "We...need...to talk."


	10. Chapter Ten

I don't like the way Johnny tells me that we need to talk.  Even so, I oblige, but first we give each other a few minutes to clean up.  I put Thea to sleep in her crib and then I peel off my nightgown.  When I step into the shower, I realize I have to fight the urge to touch myself as thoughts of Clark's hands all over me flood my mind.  The mere thought of it sends a rush of moisture between my thighs that has nothing to do with the spray of the shower.  I run the shower sponge all over myself and every stroke of it threatens to feel ridiculous sensual.  Would it really be so bad if I just drop the sponge and touch myself?  Imagine my hands as Clark's?  Why do I suddenly feel that it is incredibly unfair that Lois knows what it's like to have Clark Kent inside her?  Lois and Clark broke off a long time ago and for reasons I'd really like to know, but now more than ever I feel like she had something that never belonged to her in the first place.

As much as I would love release from the building tension between my thighs, I remember Johnny wants to talk with me.  And if I take too long, he'll worry that something is wrong.  Reluctantly, I turn off the shower and I step out.  I pull on a sweater and a pair of jeans, both of which are quite cheap by my current standards, but I like them anyway.  I grab my hairbrush and brush my hair as I head to my son's room.  Out of politeness, I knock on the door.  

"Come in," comes Johnny's voice from the other side of the door.  

I open the door and step inside.  I take a moment to observe his room.  It really doesn't look much like the bedroom of a billionaire's boy.  Sure, the queen-sized bed, his large desk, his collection of books, his powerful laptop, and assortment of expensive suits spell out a boy with a lot of money, but not quite by Oliver Queen's standards.  I'm not sure if it was conscious decision or not, but the only watches Johnny kept were the ones I bought for him and none of them were worth more than three-digit numbers.  Actually, I don't think I ever bought him a watch that was more than five hundred dollars.  Looking back now, my son and I have lived quite modestly for people that could be considered hyper-privileged.

Finally, my eyes settle on my son and I see that he had shed his gear and is now just wearing black pants and a white shirt.  Then my eyes settle on what's in his hands and my all color drains from my face as my hairbrush falls from my hand.  

"'Petition for Divorce'," reads Johnny listlessly, as if he had looked it over many times over.

"Where did you find that?" I ask him quietly and slowly.

"I wasn't snooping if that's what you're asking," replies Johnny.  "If anything, you might as well have led me right to it a couple of weeks ago when you asked me to look for some files for an article you were working on."

I think about that for a minute and indeed, I remember asking him to look for some notes I needed to put together an article.

"By the date on these, I could tell that they were before Dad disappeared, before I even found out you were pregnant with Thea," continues Johnny, not looking up at me.  "I can't say I'm all that surprised.  I might have made a point of ignoring it, even in my journals, but I could tell you and Dad were slowly drifting apart.  Over the last few years, I saw you two kissing less, hugging less, even holding hands less.  Times when I made breakfast for the two of you, there came a time when I stopped seeing the two of you curled up with each other.  Instead, you and Dad would be on opposite sides of the bed, not even touching each other."

I want to close the distance between us and just put my hand on my son's shoulder, but at this moment, I am frozen in place as tears well up in my eyes.

"I don't know if my sister was an accident or a desperate bid to save your marriage, and I love my sister still, but it seems it didn't really work did it?"  

Thea was no accident, I want to tell him.  At least not for me.  Yes, Oliver and I desperately tried to save our marriage and we made love to each other for the first time in four years.  Little did Oliver know, I was off of birth control, but at the same time, I didn't think I still could get pregnant.  I thought that I was reaching menopause, so why use birth control?  It's a happy memory, seeing how delighted Johnny was when he realized he was going to be a brother, but I wish I could say that the rest of that day was a happy one.  When Johnny was away with his friends, Oliver jumped down my throat.  He might have seemed delighted when Johnny was in the room, but he was furious.  I tried so hard to forget this, but now as I remember that evening, I also remember that it was the second time in our whole marriage that Oliver slapped me.  That time, I retaliated and punched him so hard that I broke his nose.  

Not wanting Johnny to wonder what the hell was going on, Oliver let me heal him.  Afterwards, he said to me,

"I will stay with you until the baby is born, but after that our marriage is over, Chloe."

It took all of my might to not cry myself to sleep or let Johnny see how distraught I was.  Or even Clark for that matter.  

"Then last Valentine's Day, I walked in on you and Clark having sex in my bed," continues Johnny with a mirthless laugh.  Even as my cheeks redden, a part of me wishes I could remember being so intimate with Clark Kent.  Still,

"I'm sorry you had to see that, sweetie," I apologize for the umpteenth time. 

Johnny rolls his eyes.  "Oh, Mom, I already forgave you for that.  I already took my time to vent about it and Aimee was a big help in my finding a way to forgive you."  A sad smile spreads across his face.  "Then Dad came out of his coma completely himself again and he met my sister for the first time."  A smile of my own spreads across my face at the memory.  Johnny finally looks up at me and I see tears forming in his beautiful eyes.  I want so badly to wipe and kiss them all away like I did when he was five years old.

"Dad came back and I wonder did you two try to reignite the spark you once had?" he asks.  "Did sharing the joy of my sister coming into this world prompt you two to give yourselves another chance?  All that time that Dad was away combined with the time he was in a coma make you want to try and find a way to love each other again?"

I shake my head at him as tears roll down my cheeks.  "Baby, we tried so hard to rebuild our marriage."

"Did it work?"

"No, sweetie, it didn't," although, I can say that we were ready to part on more amicable terms. 

"So what was it, Mom?" asks Johnny.  I cock my head.  "Was it your powers coming back?  Was it the fact that you seem to have stopped aging?  Was it...?" I'm not sure how he was intending to finish that sentence, but a look crosses his features.  I know that look.  He's had an epiphany.  He looks back up at me again and this time his expression is much more solemn.  "Mom, how did you and Dad get married?"

My face melts again.  I knew that Johnny would somehow discover that the wedding photos he grew up looking at were not from my actual wedding.  I knew that one day his journalistic streak would make him wonder how his parents came together.  Growing up, Oliver and I kept it short, but we--or Oliver since he was a better liar--always told him that we were in a relationship for a few years before one day Oliver proposed to me in the middle of the Star City Register.  It kills me, but I might as well tell my son the whole truth.

"Can I sit?" I ask.

In response, Johnny pats the space beside him on the bed and I go to join him.  Artemis jumps up on the bed and joins us at our feet. 

I start by telling him that what he knew about how his father and I met was a lie.  He didn't seem all that surprised about that.  I tell him that I met Oliver through Clark and the first thing I said about him was "Wow."  At the time, he was dating Lois and, well their relationship didn't work out.  Johnny was only concerned with the development--or lack thereof--of my relationship with his father.  Eventually I found out that he was the Green Arrow and, utilizing my computer skills, a working relationship was formed between us.  That working relationship would continue for another couple of years and one year, after losing Jimmy (a relationship that Johnny was already aware of) I went into a downward spiral, becoming a woman that I am not proud of.  Oliver ended up losing Lois to Clark, ending a love triangle that annoyed the hell out of me, and eventually, as I wasn't going to be getting the man I wanted either, we began a relationship.  

Actually, how could I have called it a relationship?  We shared a kiss and it escalated into a relationship "without strings" and I watch my son carefully as I tell my story.  He rolls his eyes when I tell him about the love triangle between Lois, Clark and Oliver.  He blinks and raises his eyebrows when I told him that my acquaintance with Oliver Queen began with the word "Wow."  He squeezes my hand when I mention Jimmy.  Finally, his eyes and lips twist up in a way that looks as if he tasted something really disgusting when I tell him about my "no-strings-attached" relationship with Oliver.  

I assure him that as time wore on, real feelings formed between us and we--or at least I--was able to get over my fear of being in a relationship.  Of opening up my heart again.  Even becoming friends with Clark again.

Then came the whole thing with the Suicide Squad--another thing that Johnny knew about--and I went off the grid.  When I came back, it took a little bit of time to regain everyone's trust but I finally began a real relationship with Oliver.  

Finally, there came Clark and Lois' bachelor party.  One minute we--Clark, Lois, Emil, Oliver, Tess, and I--were toasting to the the soon-to-be-wed couple and the next minute, I am tumbling out of a closet at the Kent house  in a trashy wedding dress.  Clark and I were wearing matching wedding bands and we had to get the bottom of everything.  Zatanna, yet again, had had a bit of fun with everyone.  A night of mayhem, Emil waking up as an Elvis impersonator, finding Oliver as a drag queen (to which Johnny bursts out laughing, saying he always knew his dad had a feminine spark in him) and the night ended with me saying goodbye to Clark and finding out that I had in fact married Oliver and not Clark. 

"There you have it, Johnny," I finish solemnly.

He studies me for several minutes.  No anger, nor betrayal, nor sadness, just resignation like when I kissed Clark a few hours ago.

"So, you were afraid of being in a relationship with Dad, but you weren't afraid of sleeping with him?" asks Johnny.  Way to make me feel like a slut.  "You freak out at the idea of be married to Clark, but you are elated to be married to a man you were only truly in a relationship with for barely a month?  A man who I am sure you didn't know everything about?  Even if it was as likely a drunken sham as was your supposed 'marriage' to Clark?"  Johnny shakes his head.  "Mom, you are the greatest reporter that ever lived," in spite of myself, a laugh escapes my lips at the compliment, "and you have made yourself quite a reputation of getting the stories you want, but when it comes to matters of the heart..." 

"Please don't say it," I beg him.

"...You're a bit of a coward," finishes Johnny.  

I gape several times.  I was not expecting  _that_ , but as I think about it, it really fits.  Actually, I think it would have been kinder if my son had just called me a slut or a whore.  

"Why aren't you with Clark?" asks Johnny.  

I gape again.  There's another thing I wasn't expecting.  "Sweetie, it com--"

"Don't you dare tell me it's complicated," warns Johnny with a hiss.  He shakes his head gets up from the bed.  Artemis whines indignantly at her master getting up so suddenly.  I pat her comfortingly as Johnny begins to pace.  "Mom, Clark Kent  _loves_ you!  And before you ask me how I possibly know that, I observe."  I cock my head, but invite him to go on all the same.  "Before I had friends of my own, before Aimee walked into my life--or actually bumped into me making me spill my frappe--before I even had this version of Tess as my best friend, all I had was you, Dad, Clark, and Lois.  All I could do was observe.  You think I never noticed the stolen glances between you and Clark over the years?  You think I never noticed when you or Clark suddenly looked away when either one of you realized you were staring at the other?  

"I tried so _fucking_ hard to ignore it, but the love potion that you and Clark got infected with?  It was one of those love potions that feeds off of any measure of feelings for the other person.  You two just happened to be in the right place at the right time as both of you had lingering feelings for each other.  Now I think of it, I wonder if the fact that Clark has feelings for you is the reason he and Lois broke off their engagement."  

He stops to consider that for a minute and I can't help but do the same.  

"Now onto you," says Johnny, more softly.  "Why do you back away from a man who you are obviously in love with?  Why did you brush him off after sharing that intense kiss at the Checkmate compound?  Answer me this one question, Mom:  Are you in love with Clark Kent?"

I shake my head as more tears form in my eyes.  He won't take "It's complicated" for an answer.  He won't let me explain to him that I have to think about him and his sister before I run to Clark.  I might as well answer him.  "Jonathan, I have been in love with Clark Kent since I was in the eighth grade," I say it like a prayer.  I've longed to utter those words for so long and saying them finally after all these years...it feels like heaven.

"Then why did you brush him off?" asks Johnny.

"You were standing right there and...and..."

Johnny's face becomes more gentle and he closes the distance between us and takes my hands in his.  "Did you think that I would  _hate_ you?"

Our eyes lock and all I can do is shrug.  Then the least expected thing happens.  Johnny laughs!  Why is he laughing?

"Mom," he begins between laughs and tears, "You honestly think for one minute that I could  _hate_ you?  If me being angry is what you're worried about," his voice becomes very soft again, "Mom I am tired of being angry.  I was angry that Dad died.  I was angry when I found those divorce papers that you hadn't signed yet.  I was angry when I found you and Clark making love."

"Please stop mentioning that," I grumble.  It's bad enough that I can't remember it, but my son of all people bringing it up over and over again is just...awkward.  

"Thank you, I really don't want to keep mentioning it," agrees Johnny.  "But know this, Mom."

I sit up straighter.

"If you think for one minute that I could possible hate you, then you are  _really_ stupid," he says with a grin. 

I try to give him an indignant look, but I fail and I only start laughing.  "And you know this, Jonathan."

Johnny listens up.  

"My marriage to your father failed, but if it means having you and your sister in my life, I would do it all over again, you understand me?"

My son doesn't answer or nod, but instead yanks me into a hug.  I return the embrace as our sobs and laughs mold together.  Wanting to join the embrace, probably, Artemis burrows her head in between us, causing fresh giggles from us both.

"This wolf mix is a sweet dog," I admire.

"She really is," agrees my son.  "Now you have a job to do."

"Really, what's that?" I ask curiously.

"You need to get your butt on a plane and go tell that stupid alien that you love him," orders my son imperiously.

I scoff as I break away from my son.  "Johnny, Christmas is in a couple of days and--"

"I didn't say you had to leave Thea and I behind."

"Honey, you're afraid of flying; I don't want to make you do something that will only have you scared for four or five hours," I remind him comfortingly.

Johnny smiles.  "I think I can survive one flight."

I smile too.  "I'll hold your hand the whole way if I have to," I promise.

"Then how about we get packing and head to Metropolis," suggests Johnny, getting up and offering his hand.

"Sounds like a plan," I say as I accept my son's hand.   

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

As I expected, Johnny barely relaxes the whole way to Metropolis.  At the smallest bump of the plane, he would begin to hyperventilate and tears would brim up in his eyes.  All I can do is hold his hand and promise him that everything would be okay.  He squeezes back, but, while it might help him to stop hyperventilating, it does little to keep the tears from falling.  I have to fight from lashing out when I hear someone in another seat stifling a few giggles that are most likely directed towards my son’s obvious state of distress. 

It’s not his fault he’s so traumatized by flight.  Or, maybe it’s just planes?  Lex Luthor and Cynthia Waller should consider themselves lucky they are behind bars.  Orange jumpsuits and several consecutive life sentences are quite tame compared to what I would love to do to them both.  I might have learned to accept that my ardor for Oliver disappeared long ago, but seeing my son like this?  This afraid and shaking this hard?  It makes me want to breathe fire.  It makes me want to punch someone and not care who.  

Desperate to at least get a smile out of him, I try talking to him about journalists we know.  Thankfully, my idea works and soon we are laughing and smiling as we discuss good articles and bad articles; good writers and bad writers; reasons why I am the best journalist who ever lived.  I might have three Pulitzers under my name, but I idolize people like Nellie Bly.  Still, I love how my son never seems to run out of reasons why I am the best reporter in the world.  Oliver certainly never took the time to do such a thing.  Clark always tells me that I am a great reporter and has always encouraged me to take up a story, but Johnny is the one always finding reasons to tell me why I am awesome.

He even tells me that I am a better reporter than Lois.  Well, as much as Lois is a prolific and respected reporter, she has no Pulitzer under her name.  He tells me that one of the reasons why I am so awesome is because I never worked for the Inquisitor.  Johnny says that word like it tastes horrible.  I don't blame him.  The Inquisitor is the worst thing that happened to journalism, even for a tabloid.  Lois always tells me that Gotham Gazette is treating her well.  She's just tired of being on the second floor.  

Johnny loves Lois, but he never thought she was too good of a journalist.  A few times, he had gotten very analytical about her articles and sometimes I would see him circling her typos if he wasn't too busy with the crossword puzzles, or cutting out the  _Garfield_ comic strips and putting them in one of his scrapbooks.  

So caught up in our conversation are we, that it makes us both jump when the pilot announces that the plane is nearing Metropolis and it comes time to fasten our seatbelts.  Johnny must feel as overprotective of Thea as I do as we both put a hand on her baby seat to steady it as the plane makes its descent onto the runway.  Just before we start to get out of the plane, Johnny grabs me gently and whispers,

"Thanks for the help, Mom," he says with a smile.

I smile back as I say, "Anything for my boy."  I grasp his head and pull it towards me a little as I plant a kiss on his forehead.  We head out of the plane and, for once, I am pleased not to find a chauffeur from Queen Industries.  What I do find, is an attendant who leads us to the rental car that I asked for before we got on the plane.  If it were just me and Johnny, I would have gone to a hotel, but the loft at the Queen Tower already had all the toddler accommodations.  One thing the housekeeping staff always does that I never really appreciated, is that they always take care of the Christmas decorations.  I've nagged Oliver many times over the years about taking opportunities to set up holiday decorations ourselves, but he never listened.  The only things I did have control over sometimes, was decorating my personal spaces to my liking.  I also never let him overrule me when I wanted to decorate one of the walls in the loft in a Wall of Weird way with many, many clippings that I have acquired over the years.  

What did we have in common?  Other than the fact that we both spent half our childhoods with at least one missing, or dead parent?  He listened when I started talking about stories in the news, or about silly stuff involving journalists because he knew it was something I was passionate about, but he couldn't relate.  And I could never relate when he started talking business.  Even Johnny never got terribly into business talk.  Once or twice he confided in me that he would be content simply being a shareholder of Queen Industries.  He never brought the idea up with Oliver, because he worried how he would feel about his son not liking the idea of taking over as head of the company.  

What he has expressed interest in is journalism.  Not that I wouldn't be happy about my son following my footsteps, but I also want to make sure he knows that he can follow his own path if he wanted to.  He doesn't design clothes, even if he is good at sewing thanks to lessons from Clark and Martha Kent, but he has a very complex taste in style.  He always seems to know what outfits work best for what occasions.  Many times, he had told his father what tux he ought to wear to a particular occasion and he has helped me on even more occasions on deciding what dresses to wear.  I've asked him before why he likes to do my hair and help me with my outfits and he always told me that women have more freedom, more variety in the world of fashion.  

He's definitely not wrong.  Go to any gala, party, or look through a magazine of actors at a premiere or the Oscars, and all--or at least most--of the men are wearing black and white suits in whatever combination, and the women are wearing all sorts of gowns.  Once Johnny gets talking about dresses, especially at the dinner table, there is no shutting him up.  His taste in clothing has been so that, since I started asking his advice on clothing, I've started hearing more compliments about my attire. 

If he wanted to go to fashion school to be a stylist, I have no doubt that he would do really well.

When we arrive at the Queen loft, I feel a familiar sense that I don't belong.  Plenty of stuff that I genuinely care about is here, but it just feels like stuff spread out in a place shouldn't be considered my home.  I still have to talk to Johnny, but I have started taking moving into an apartment here in Metropolis.  My personal wealth, from managing the Isis Foundation and as a journalist could buy me a really nice apartment, but I just want something that is fine mixture of coziness and space.  Like the studio apartment I lived in above the Talon.  

I miss that coffee shop.

Of course, now that I have children, a studio apartment would be really inconvenient.  Also, even if Johnny feels content about moving with me to Metropolis, it would be best to wait until he graduates in May.  

"Hey Mom?" 

I am so caught up in my thoughts, that the sound of my son's voice startles me.  "Yeah, sweetie?"

Johnny gives the loft a thoughtful glance as he stands there with Thea in his arms.  "Have I ever told you how hideous I think green Christmas lights are?"

I also take a moment to observe the loft.  I wouldn't say that green is a hideous color, and I know that Johnny isn't saying that, but as a color scheme?  Especially in the form of Christmas lights and also reminding me of times I saved Clark from kryptonite-filled rooms... "Not the best color scheme is it?" I agree.

We share a laugh and feel his joy coming off of him.  Soon, Johnny stops laughing and he approaches me, his face stern.  

"Now, remember what I said, Mom?" he asks seriously.

My laughter isn't replaced by sternness, but by worry.  Johnny catches it and his expression softens a little as he sets Thea down in her crib and returns to me.  

"You can do this, Mom," he encourages me.  Was I ever that optimistic?

"Jonathan, I know you think he loves me, but I'm not sure I can survive another rejection by Clark Kent," I tell my son hopelessly.  "The last time I told him how I felt, when I was seventeen, these were his exact words:  'Chloe, I wish I felt the same way, but I don't.  At least not right now.'"

"Exactly!" Johnny replies so suddenly that I jump.  "You just said it--'not right now.'  And the best part is that there's no Lana Lang that you have to compete with--or anybody for that matter.  To tell you the truth, given how infatuated with Lana Lang Clark was, you know I grew up thinking she was witch?"

 _That_ gets me laughing.  She did have a witch in her ancestry after all.

"Why else would Clark be so head-over-heels for such a whiny brat who locked you in a wine refrigerator just to find out Clark's secret?" asks Johnny.  

I stop laughing suddenly.  "What?"

Johnny frowns.  "Wait, you didn't know that?"

"Uh--" I start stupidly, but no words come to my head.  "How do  _you_ know that?"

"A few weeks after Clark told  _me_ his secret, to satisfy my curiosity, he told me how everybody in his life found out his secret," replies Johnny.  "When he told me how Lana Lang found out his secret...it was the first time I used the word 'bitch'.  He told me that some years back, Lana contacted him just to say hi and Clark asked her how she found out his secret and she gave him the full disclosure."

All I can do is blink and stare as I recall that time.  Lana had given me the cold shoulder because I was determined to not share my best friend's secrets and...well "bitch" is a fitting description.  Also, even if I might have been part of that crowd at one point in my life, I kept thinking why can't everybody just respect Clark Kent's privacy.  He was always a bad liar--and he had plenty of reason to be a liar--but why couldn't people just respect his privacy?  Although, I do feel that having been under Lionel Luthor's control, my curiosity got the better of me simply because I was afraid of what Lionel would do to me.  

"Maybe she was a witch," I finally say.  

"And an idiot," adds Johnny.  "She was so caught up in her thirst for power, she didn't consider the consequences and now she is just an indestructible walking block of kryptonite.  If I were her, I would have just destroyed the suit and the research."  I could tell him that she is no longer walking kryptonite, thanks to John Corben, but I'm enjoying hearing him insult her.  

I give my son a sideways glance.  "Are you sure you don't dislike Lana so much simply because she was always preventing me from having everything I ever wanted?"

Johnny thinks about that for a minute before he shrugs.  "Oh, God, is that bad?"

I laugh and shake my head.  "Not at all, sweetie."

Just then, the elevator opens again behind me and a smile spreads to Johnny's ears as he sees who has come.

"Tess!" he greets, walking past me and meeting his best friend halfway.  By the surprised squeal, I already know before I turn around that Johnny has captured the redhead in a breathtaking hug.  I smile proudly as I see that he topped it off with lifting her off her feet and swinging her around.  

Tess stares helplessly at me and I can only return the look with glee.  "Good to see you too, Johnny," she says with a laugh.  I pretty sure that she has the same notion as me.  It's been quite awhile since she had seen Johnny this happy.  "Can you put me down now?"

Johnny gently lowers her to the ground, but he does not release her from his embrace.  He studies her for a minute.  "Wow, Tess, you look great!"

She actually does.  Her hair looks perfectly wavy as it always does, though it is glistening a bit thanks to the heavy snowfall outside.  She also looks great in her black turtleneck sweater and slacks.  

"Thanks, Johnny," she says with a smile.  My son in a good mood is infectious to the say the least.

"I guess I should get going," I say.  I haven't even taken my coat off yet, so I only have to grab my purse.  I head towards the elevator, but I stop to share a look with my son.  He gives me an encouraging wink.  I also know that Tess won't have anything good to say or do to me if I hurt her roommate's feelings again.  I step into the elevator and wait for it to descend.

 

It doesn't feel like much time passes before I am in an elevator again, this time going up, and with my hair sprinkled with large snowflakes.  Taller building means longer trip in the elevator.  At least this one only leads to the loft, so I don't have to worry about it stopping several times for other people to use it.  I feel like I am in one of my recurring dreams, heading up to Clark and Tess's Watchtower loft and wondering what I am going to do or say.  I pinch myself to make sure this isn't a dream.  By the pain that flares up on my skin, I know that this is  _not_ a dream.  My son's words echo in my head as the elevator comes closer and closer to my destination.    

"Come on, Chloe," I say to myself out loud.  "Don't be a coward, don't be a coward, don't...be...a coward."  Finally, the elevator grinds to a halt and it opens.  I hear Christmas music coming from the other side of the half-moon doors.  I don't know if I should feel like I am being scolded as the song is "All I Want for Christmas is You."

I step forward to the doors and, tentatively, I turn the knob and step into the loft.  The place looks a lot nicer than the Queen loft.  Red and blue Christmas lights, the tall Christmas tree covered in ornaments and fluff.  The lingering smell of cookies.  I can't hold back my smile as I see a gingerbread house that looks eerily like the yellow Kent house.  I also suspect that Tess paid someone to make it as it looks way too professional to have been made by Clark.  I hope it's not too old that it's too stale or whatever to eat.  I'm sure Clark took many pictures of it already.  Now I notice Clark and I see him sitting on the sectional couch in front of the stained glass window.  He's not reading a book, but rather it looks like our old yearbook.  

"Best Buds," says Clark, not looking up from the yearbook.  "I might not have shown it much during high school, except for right after Spring Formal when I tried to apologize for leaving you, but once or twice, I have thought about the two of being more than just friends.  After I came back from the Phantom Zone for the first time, it was so surreal when I confronted you and you told me, 'You mean when laid one on you?  Don't worry, Clark, it was the end of the world, it's not like I'm expecting us to hook up'."  A fresh stab of guilt sears through me and I wish I could make up for it.  "Those words broke my heart and I never pursued the idea of being in a relationship with you again because I valued our friendship too much.  Sometimes I think a part of me was always in love with you, Chloe.  I think it's why I avoided you so much after Jimmy died." 

Pure pain ripples through my body at the memory, even if Clark's tone is apologetic.  I had never been more lonely in my entire life.

"During that time, I was falling in love with Lois as she started becoming the woman you always hoped to be--intrepid journalist, Daily Planet--and you found 'romance' with Oliver."  Clark looks up from the yearbook and locks eyes with me.  "I've been in love with you for years, Chloe Sullivan.  I've done just about everything to show it."  I cock my head at him.  "I never missed a meal date with you; I was there for you every time you needed a shoulder to cry on when you and Oliver had a fight unless you asked me to stay away; I always encouraged you to pursue a story, even when were not feeling up to the task; every time Oliver missed something important, I was there for you.  I even gave Jonathan a shoulder to cry on when he was at his loneliest.  Sometimes, especially in the early years of your marriage to Oliver, I was his personal Chloe Sullivan instruction manual.  I had to remind him a few times that you preferred tulips over roses.  What else do I have to do to show you how much you mean to me?"

The more he talks about it, the more I realize just how much Clark has been there for me.  To answer his question, I could tell him that he could marry me, but that would be too fast.  He's even made love to me even though neither of us remember the experience.  He isn't aware that we have made love.  I would like one question answered though.

"Clark, why did you and Lois break up?"  


	12. Chapter Twelve

Clark doesn't answer my question immediately, but he does get up to get himself a cup of hot chocolate.  Sometimes I wonder if he wouldn't even bother to crank up the heat if it weren't for the fact that his roommate isn't immune to the cold as he is.  Probably since people come and go all the time, given it is a Watchtower base, he wouldn't be able to keep it off for long periods of time anyway.  In the winter it gets drafty and in the summer, as heat rises, it gets toasty.  Even so, Clark was always good about keeping the temperature at a nice level, even if it probably sends his electric bill through the roof.

Clark offers me a cup of hot chocolate as well, maybe even some of his cookies to go with it.  I accept the hot drink with some marshmallows, but I decline the cookies.  Finally he comes back and joins me on the sectional couch, interrupting my snow-gazing.  I don't like snow very much, but Metropolis does hold a bigger promise of a snowy Christmas than Star City does.  

Clark sighs heavily, but he doesn't look at me as he says, "I'm not sure how much I can make a long story short, but ultimately, the reason why Lois and I broke up...is because of the Pulitzer you and I won."

I that catches me off-guard and I forget to blow on my hot chocolate before I sip it.  I muffle a squeal as the liquid burns my tongue and throat.  Alarmed, Clark pats my back a little and takes the mug away from me and sets it on the coffee table as he soothes me.  

"Careful there, Chlo," he laughs.  "Sorry, I should have asked if you wanted an ice cube."

"No, I'm fine," I protest, even if my tongue is a bit tender now.  Clark doesn't listen and he blows on my mug a little.  With his freeze breath.  When he's done, he hands my mug back to me.

"Try it now," he says with a smile.  

I take the mug and take a tentative sip.  It's hot, but not scalding hot.  I have to fight back an appreciative sigh as I snark, "Showoff."

Clark frowns.  "I thought you liked when I showed off."

And I do as long is doesn't involve impromptu blur-ins, sending all of my paperwork flying.  But onto the question.  "Because of our Pulitzer?  I thought Lois was thrilled when you won that award."

Clark's sighs again.  "She was," he confirms.  "She was so happy for us both--with me because I never expected to earn such praise for my writing, and you because, well you've dreamed being a Pulitzer Prize winner for as long I've known you."  We share a smile.  Clark's not in any sense a bad writer, but at the same time he prefers to not draw much attention to himself, so sometimes he needs a bit of push to rise to his full potential.  

"She was proud of us, but as the weeks went by, she slowly became a mess.  More than once, when I woke up in the morning, I saw her passed out in front of her computer from working all night.  At first I just laughed it off, because she was really busy."

I smile a little.  "Did you get out the water balloons?"

Judging by how Clark isn't sharing my amusement, my smile melts into a frown.

"I did try being silly with her once, but she got really angry," he replies.  "She just started screaming at me, using words that she didn't normally use, complaining about things that really didn't matter, and finally she said, 'Why don't you just go ask Chloe if there's another story she wants help with and leave me alone.'"

At that revelation, I see Clark's eyes glisten and I set my mug down before bringing that hand back up to put it on his shoulder affectionately.

"It didn't take me long to figure out she was jealous.  She was jealous because I won a Pulitzer.  She was jealous because it was something you and I worked on together instead with her.  And if that wasn't bad enough, by the time I was given that promotion, she lost it.  I was given a office on the same floor as the Editor-in-Chief's office with a great view of the square below and she was still at her desk in the second floor.  Eventually, I started noticing that she was coming home later than usual and more often than not, drunk." I distinctly remember Lois sending me some very weird messages, half of them gibberish and usually very angry.  "When I confronted her about it, we got into a huge fight and she tripped over a chair.  I caught her before she hit the ground, but her purse landed on the floor and that was when I saw the cigarettes."

"What?" I exclaim.  Lois struggled with smoking when she was in high school, but I had never seen her with a cigarette since.  

"That's pretty much how I reacted," agrees Clark.  "I wanted to help her, maybe get her to go to a rehab center to help her through this, but she told me that I had no right to judge her.  She asked me 'Isn't there a cousin of mine you need to help?'  Coincidentally, you called me not a minute later telling me that you and Oliver were trapped in the Queen Tower in Star City when Winslow Schott had escaped from prison--again--and set the building on fire."

I remember that.  I was meeting Oliver for lunch and, before we could do anything about it, several explosions went off on the lower floors and, while they didn't make the building collapse--thankfully--we had no way of escape as the chopper was destroyed as well.  Clark came as fast as he could and got everybody out before he blew out the fire.  Oliver and I figured that something was on his mind because normally he would've lingered a few minutes to make sure everyone was okay, especially Oliver and I.

"When I got home, Lois was nowhere to be found," continues Clark.  "The apartment was a mess.  It looked like she had grabbed a bunch of stuff in a hurry and I found a letter on the table."

"A letter?" I repeat.

Clark gets up and I watch him as he walks over to a bookshelf and pulls out a scrapbook.  After fingering through a few pages, he pulls out an old sheet of paper folded in half and brings it back over.  He hands it to me and I unfold it and begin reading.

_Clark,_

_I don't really know what to say, so I guess I'll just get straight to the point.  I accepted the job in Africa and I am on my way now.  I'm sure that you would've been suportive, but I guess saying goodby to you was harder than I thought it would be.  Don't get me wrong.  I am so proud of you for winning that Pulitser.  You took my advice on being a good reporter to heart and you went abuve and beyond.  I want to make sure that Chloe nows that I am proud of her to.  I can't believe I didn't see it before.  You and I have partnered up many times chasing down a story, but you and Chloe?  You were always more likely to partner up with her than with me.  For a while, I thought that it was simply because you had more time to develop a working relationship with her.  You two know how you both function and that partnership often extended to whenever you put on those red and blue tites.  I'm not saying that we didn't make good partners, but she was usually your first choice.  And if had a quarter for every time you saved her life, or helped her in bad situations, I could buy a couple of Lamborghinis._

_Your in love with my cousin, Clark.  You might not think it or know it, but I know you well enuff that you are head-over-heels in love with Chloe Sullivan-Queen.  She's a married woman, you and I both know, but I can't marry you knowing that I am the girl you settled for.  I fell in love with you when I found out that you were the Blur.  You fell in love with me when I started becoming the woman that Chloe always hoped she'd be.  Growing up, I had no interest in journalism and then Chloe sucked me into the Torch office with the two of you.  Half the time, I wanted to throw you into your dad's wood chipper for how you ignored my cousin, but, now I look back, you were on some level always in love with her.  I'm an investigative journalist, so don't you dare contact me in Africa telling me that I have this al wrong._

_You pined for Lana Lang, your high school crush, but at the end of the day, it was always Chloe you turned to.  She was the one you could turn to when you had a bad day.  She was the one you could get into endless arguments about politics and religion.  She was the one girl who could wear low-cut outfits, or wear anything sexy and you wouldn't get tongue-tied.  I'd like to think it was because she is your best friend, but I think it's more than that.  You always thought she was beautiful and you always saw it.  That is why it never made your speech stumble when she put her beauty out in the open more than she already did.  Though, you are still afraid of naked girls._

_She might not be the one you love today, but maybe one day, if you ever pull your head out of your ass, you will see just how much she means to you._

_See you around, Smallville_

_Lois_

I read the letter over several times, stopping a couple of times to roll my eyes over Lois's spelling errors and glancing from the letter to Clark and back to the letter again.  There are tears brimming in my eyes, but I barely notice them.  Clark sees them and sighs.

"That's about how I reacted," he says solemnly.  "After I read that letter, I cried for a week.  I didn't disappear the way I did when my mom died, but I lost motivation to put on the cape.  I ignored a bank robbery, an electrical fire at the children's hospital--don't give me that look--and a broken scaffold downtown."

"So what?" I scoff.  "You've kept this letter around for the last ten years, beating yourself up because you blamed yourself for losing the woman you loved?"

"Notice the past-tense in the last word of that sentence?" asks Clark quizzically.  "'Loved.'  I  _loved_ her."

"And after Oliver died...?"

Clark glances down into his lap ruefully.  "I'll admit, I got a little overexcited when I kissed you in the rain that night."

"But you're regretful," I sum up.

"I am," confirms Clark.  "But not for the reasons you think."  He looks back up and locks eyes with me.  "I regret not taking a leap of faith with you in high school.  I regret letting you slip away from me that day in the Daily Planet when I came back from the Phantom Zone.  I regret ignoring you for so long, letting you lose sight of who you were.  The Chloe Sullivan I grew up with would never have settled for a 'relationship without strings'.  That doesn't mean I am not happy to have your children in my life.  I just wish you and Oliver had given yourselves more time for your relationship to actually develop."

Tears falling from my eyes, I shake my head.  "Clark," I begin, my voice tremulous, "how do you feel about me?"

Clark smiles as he says, "I love you, Chloe Sullivan.  We both know I've done a lousy job of showing it all our lives, but it's the truth.  You once wrote to me, ' _I might not be the one you love today, but I'll let you go for now, hoping one day you'll fly back to me.  Because I think you're worth the wait._ '"  Wryly, I think how true the word "fly" hits home.  "Today  _I love you, Chloe_ ," he declared slowly and clearly.  "If you don't feel the same way, or if you feel that it is unfair to Jonathan and Thea, or that you might be disrespecting Oliver's memory, I understand.  Thea might not understand, but the last thing I want to do is hurt Jonathan.  He always felt like the son I never had, but if he'd rather me back off, then I'll do that.  And I'll wait an eternity if I have to."

Wow, I always imagined what it would be like to hear such devotion from Clark Kent, but  _actually_ hearing it?  A part of me wants to put up my barriers.  A part of me is reminding myself of how it would destroy me if Clark rejects me again.  Words of encouragement from a teenage boy whom I love more than life itself, and who loves me back just as much does little to pale that apprehension.  Plus, Clark knows that my marriage to Oliver had slowly deteriorated.  I confided in him once that I was thinking of leaving Oliver, but I also told him that I didn't want to hurt my son.  I still haven't told him about any of the times Oliver assaulted me and I don't want to right now, but I also know that Clark would never do that to me.  Not just because of his strength, but more because he just isn't that kind of man.  I want so badly to dismiss Clark's offering his heart to me on a silver platter as a desperate bid to fill that Lois Lane/Lana Lang void, but I cannot deny the look in his eyes. 

He means every word.  He loves me and he doesn't have to say it for me to know that he is willing to let me set the pace.  Clark Kent loves  _me._ Me, Chloe Sullivan, not a woman with an "LL" monogram, or brown hair, or tall, or a nicer nose, or devoid of freckles.  

I smile as tears continue to fall down my cheeks.  I reach out with both hands and carefully take off Clark's glasses.  A look of uncertainty passes over his features as he looks from me to the glasses and back again.  Letting my eyes flutter shut, I close the distance between us and my lips brush over his.  At the touch of his lips, I feel the fire that has been slowly smoldering away at my heart the last four or five months roar into an inferno.  I slant my mouth a little and part my lips.  Whether he does it first or I do, our tongues begin to tease and taste each other's mouths.  Clark reaches up with a soft hand and cups my cheek as our kisses become more fierce.

With his other hand, Clark grabs my side and I let out a surprised yelp as I find myself in his lap.  I settle my legs on other side of him, straddling him, not permitting him to move.  Of course, Clark could easily throw me off of him, but I know he won't.  He's not that kind of guy.  A bitter--and awkward--memory flares up to a time, long ago, I straddled Clark in a similar fashion, only it was in a barn and I was wearing nothing but his football jersey while under the influence of a love molecule.  Clark didn't throw me off, but he gently pushed me away, telling me that he didn't want to take things too fast.  Being "devoted" to him to the extreme, I took his words to heart, but that didn't stop me from doing a bunch of other silly stuff.  

No, this time, I am wearing black slacks, a red blazer over a red vest and white blouse, and I haven't even taken off my red coat yet.  Reluctantly, I pull away from Clark for just a minute.  "Jonathan loves you, Clark.  Maybe he doesn't see you as a father figure, but he was actually the one that talked me into coming here.  And I love you too, Clark.  And I'm never letting you go again."

My lips return to Clark's and our kisses become even fiercer.  Clark grabs hold of my waist and I muffle a yelp as he swings me over, gently settling me onto the couch so that he is over me.  My hands tangle in his hair as a sigh of pleasure escapes my lips as his lips break free of mine and begin lavishing my neck in soft, searing kisses.  One of his legs is settled between my thighs and, with no input from my brain, my body rubs against his.  Each stroke against his legs sends shivers through my body that sends spasmodic tremors through my fingers and toes.  

Then, shockingly, I feel Clark's hands snake their way to the buttons on my coat.  At the same time, my hands seek the catches in his t-shirt.  Suddenly, I wish I wasn't wearing so many layers, but that aggravation is soon replaced by tremulous delight as I lift the blue shirt and help Clark wiggle out of it.  Now my hands are on his bare back, exploring every contour.  How I have always wanted to touch him there.  The only times I ever did was back before I knew his secret and I would rub sunscreen onto him.  Looking back now, he probably didn't want people wondering why he wasn't wearing sunscreen while others were fighting from getting sunburned.  

Now I can touch him the way I've always wanted to and I feel a rush of heat between my legs as my fingers rumble against the hills of his spine.  

Finally, Clark frees me from my coat and I sit up as I help shuck it off my shoulders.  I think to myself why Clark doesn't just superspeed me out of my clothes, but it could be that he wants to take his time with me.  Savoring every moment and taking his time as he explores my body.  I give him a little shove and I roll over on top of him.  Vaguely, I notice that I missed the cushions and now Clark is floating a couple of feet off the ground with me on top of him.  Not that that doesn't fill me with as much delight as it does amusement, but Clark floats back to the couch and I take a moment to observe him.  I've seen Clark shirtless on more occasions than I can count and has led to many self-induced orgasms, but now I get to touch it.  I want to put my lips all over him.  I want to map every inch of his body with my tongue.  

With a glint in my eye, I slide down his body a little bit and plant a wet kiss on his chest.  Clark's breath comes out as a hiss and I suspect that his skin is more sensitive to touch than a typical person.  Then again, Clark is not a typical person.  I have always loved him for that and knowing that I have him all to myself fills me with barely-suppressed giddiness.  I plant another kiss to his chest and Clark lets out that same sound.  Encouraged, I rub my lips and my cheek against the muscles of Clark's chest and abdomen.  Every so often, my tongue darts out and I taste his flesh and revel in the slight country fragrance of him.  Even living in the heart of a city, he still feels and smells like a boy who belongs on a farm.  My tongue reaches his nipple and I give the nub particular attention before taking it in my mouth and sucking a little.  In response, Clark rumbles a groan.  

Clark Kent is at my mercy.  Either I am made of kryptonite or Clark is easily weakened by women.  Either way, it makes me feel incredibly powerful and beautiful and I love it.  

As I explore him, the bulge against my abdomen is growing more and more difficult to ignore.  I need to see it, to feel it.  I slide further down Clark's body and begin pulling at his belt and jeans.  Clark isn't wearing shoes or socks, so there is nothing in the way as I frantically pull off his jeans.  I am more slow as I lower his boxers and free his manhood.

"Wow," I breathe and immediately I feel stupid.  Or maybe not.  Oliver had an impressive manhood, but it was not nearly as proportionate as this.  Clark doesn't even have any pubic hair.  Or any hair really other than that which was on his head.  Did Kryptonians just not have body hair?  Either way, I lean forward a little and flick my tongue over the head of Clark's manhood.  In response, another low groan rumbles out of him.  Again, I flick my tongue out, but this time, I start at the base and slowly drag my tongue towards the tip.  Clark breath becomes very shallow, almost to the point of hyperventilation as I explore the velvety skin of his penis.  He tries very hard to keep his eyes glued to mine, but I am driving him insane as my tongue swirls around the head in endless, wet circles.  My hand reaches up and I draw invisible patterns into his skin with a long fingernail as I purse my lips and slowly slide them over the shaft.  I never learned how to deep-throat as I never engaged much in this kind of foreplay with Oliver or Jimmy, but now I wish I could take all of Clark in.  When he hits the back of my mouth I use my other hand to close around that which I cannot reach.  Then, my mouth moves on him harder and faster, while sliding my tongue on him within the confines of my mouth.  I feel a twitch in Clark and I know he is close.  I think he tries to utter out some sort of warning, but no clear words come out of him.  I don't pull back.  I don't stop.  I continue to make love to him with my mouth and I don't slow down as I feel the first splash hit the back of my mouth.  Reflexively, I swallow, but still I don't back away.  I just keep making love to him until the last few spasms fade.  

Finally, I release Clark and I slide back up his body.

"You always did have a smart mouth," he says.

Despite myself, I laugh.  My laughter soon disappears as I see Clark observing me with a frown.  I look down and frown as well.  Clark is naked under me and I am still fully clothed.  My eyes return to Clark's and a mischievous grin is spread across his lips.  Before I can comprehend what has happened, I realize that we are no longer on the sectional couch, but rather his bed upstairs.

"My turn," he whispers.  I stretch out before him and his lips slam down upon mine.  If our kisses before were fierce, these kisses are plain wild and frantic.  Clark tugs at the buttons of my blazer, then my vest, and finally my shirt.  I feel cool air as all that separates my upper body from him is my black bra.  I reach behind me and unclasp it and Clark gently lowers it.  I cry out in surprise and ecstasy as his lips close around my left nipple.  My back arches in a bow like a cat as I try to press myself deeper into his mouth.  There's no reason why a man's lips should feel so good, so exciting.  One of his hands travels down my body and slips into my slacks.  I forget to breathe as his fingers brush over my intimate flesh.  I want him inside me.  I _need_ him inside me.  As if Clark read my mind he slides down my body, causing me to let out a whimper of protest from the loss of sensation he was creating on my breasts.  He must be out of patience, because the next thing I know, I am bared before him.

Clark takes a moment to observe my body.  I have never seen such a look from him before.  At least not directed at me.  I've fantasized about such adoration in Clark's eyes many times growing up, but seeing it for real?  It's almost too good to be true.  Clark plants a quick kiss upon my lips and then he drags his tongue down my body.  First from my chin, then stopping to offer my breasts a bit more attention whereupon his hand slips between my legs and begins exploring my intimate flesh a bit.  I writhe beneath him like a convict getting electrocuted.  I try to keep still, but Clark's hand and his lips traveling closer and closer to it, are driving me crazy.  

Finally, his tongue is on me and I cry out helplessly, begging him to stop.  Begging him to never stop.  Begging him.  Begging.  Begging.  Begging...Clark's tongue picks up speed, way beyond that of a human being and a shock wave spreads through the course of my body as I come.  I melt into the mattress as Clark slides back up and settles beside me.  

When I catch my breath all I can say is, "And you think _I_ am the one with a smart mouth?"  

Clark shrugs.  "I don't know.  We both won at least one Pulitzer, so I guess we really do build off of each other."

"I guess Kryptonians are really good in bed," I tease.

Clark scoffs as he settles himself over me.  "I have no idea, just paid attention during sex ed."  Clark's newly hardened shaft slides into me and I cry out.  It's what I have been waiting for, but I never quite expected it to feel so good.  I lift my thighs and wrap my legs around Clark's waist as he thrusts into me.  By the weightlessness, I vaguely realize that we have floated off the bed.  I almost let out a whimper of fear, but I know Clark won't drop me.  He rolls over so I am on top and he locks hands with me as our movements become faster and more erratic.  I lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips just as I feel myself tighten around his shaft.  

"Chloe," he moans.

"Yes!" I scream.  "Yes!  YES, CLARK!  YE--!" the word is cut off as an incandescent scream erupts from my lungs as we come.  Both of us panting hard, Clark floats back down to the bed and I slump down beside him, resting my cheek against his chest.  Wow, just wow.  Making love to Jimmy for the first time was child's play, two kids who barely knew what they were doing.  Making love to Oliver for the first time was wild and meaningless as I was making love to--no, having sex with--a man who knew a woman's body, but didn't know mine.  Making love to Clark was...feverish.  I don't know what would have happened without that "sex ed" from the Fortress, but Clark really did pay attention and the whole time we were enveloped in a feverish, addictive glow that has left me wanting more.  But I am too weak for more.  

If Clark is this good in bed, how did Lois ever keep her hands off of him?  How did Lana?  Their loss, my gain, I think happily to myself.   

"I love you, Chloe," whispers Clark.  

I say the words I've always wanted to say to him.  "I love you too Clark."

Just then, I hear something coming from downstairs.  I know that sound.  Peeling myself off of Clark, I wrap myself up in one of the sheets and walk towards the door.  I open it and there, on one of the computer screens is Johnny.  Playing the piano.  I cover my mouth as a joyous gasp escapes my lips and as fresh tears form in my eyes.  I don't know for sure, but it sounds like some improvised version of a piano solo called "Leaves on the Water" or something like that.  Clark comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me.  

"I never thought I'd hear him play the piano again," I breathe happily and tearfully.  

"I wonder if Tess told him how she feels," says Clark.

I crane my neck and stare up at him.  "What?"

Clark frowns.  "You didn't know Tess was in love with Johnny?" 

I stammer stupidly.  Sure, this version of Tess is only five years older that Johnny and he's of legal age to be in a relationship with her but, how did Clark--a prude--notice that and not me?  Maybe Tess confided in her roommate and I simply never took the time to notice.  I half-hoped Johnny would get back together with his ex, Aimee, but I might also settle for them being friends again.  "Learn something new every day."  This Tess doesn't remember being with Oliver, but I guess it's little wonder that this one would be in love with a Queen.

Clark nods in agreement, but then he groans. 

I frown up at him.  "What's wrong, baby?"

Clark gapes at me and I gape too.  I never called him that.  "I-I never got you a Christmas present," he finally replies with moan. 

In response I spin around so that I am facing him properly.  I cup his cheek gently as I smile up at him.  "Clark Kent, you're the best Christmas present I ever had."  I stand up on my toes and brush my lips over him again.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

I wake with a groan, but I don't open my eyes.  I roll over on the bed with my arm outstretched, seeking the vast expanse of Clark.  My arm finds only emptiness.  At that, my eyes flutter open and indeed I see no Clark.  Clutching the blues blankets to my chest I sit up, blinking at the brightness coming from the window.  I check my watch, which I am surprisingly still wearing, and it's about seven in the morning.  Not exactly time to be gathering around the Christmas tree and opening presents yet.  

I already indulged myself with my favorite Christmas gift.  Five times, to be exact.  Clark Kent really has stamina in bed and I don't even feel that I've gotten enough of him.  I stare at the empty space where Clark is supposed to be and my nostrils flare with anger.  I did not give him permission to leave this bed.  He is supposed to be here!  In my arms, with me, inside me,  _NOW_!  

As if on cue, I hear faint singing coming from beyond the room.  Curious, I swing my legs over and meet the cold wood.  I have to say, I like the switch to a hardwood surface when the Watchtower was rebuilt.  Just how much was Clark, or even Tess, involved in the remodeling?  It's also a good thing that the list of guests is very strict.  Otherwise, I would have more reason to scold Clark for leaving his cape lying on a chair out in the open.  I walk over quickly and grab the cape, wrapping myself in it before I leave the bedroom.  

Most of the loft is still lit up by the Christmas tree as well as the bit of frost that has latched onto the stained glass window.  Doesn't seem like anybody is here yet.  It doesn't surprise me.  The earliest that my family does presents is usually eight.  I follow Clark's voice and it leads me to the bathroom.  I hear the shower running.  The thought of joining Clark, helping him reach places that are more difficult to wash on his own, sends a rush of heat between my thighs.  I almost laugh at the song he is singing.  "Last Christmas" by Wham! or maybe by Taylor Swift?  Once or twice over the years, I have overheard Clark listening to the whiny strains of Taylor Swift.  Much to his embarrassment and my amusement.  I reach the bathroom door and, with one hand still clutching the cape to myself, I open it and step inside, closing the door behind me again.  Now I really have to fight back my amusement at Clark's singing. 

Well, I definitely don't plan on giving his heart away this year.  It's mine.  Clark must hear my approach as he shoves the curtain aside.  I offer him a bright smile.  "I thought I'd join you," I explain simply, letting the cape fall to the ground. 

There's a hungry look in Clark's eyes as his eyes roam over my body for a minute or two before they return to my eyes.  There's--wariness?--etched into his too-beautiful, and very wet, features.

"Um, you're not possessed by Siobhan, are you?" he asks uncertainly.

I shake my head, confused.  "What are you...?"  Then my face melts into horror and disgust as I remember, years ago, I woke up in Clark's arms only to find the two of us wrapped only in towels...during an accidental double date at what turned out to be a rather shadowy nowhere inn.  "You just  _had_ to bring up that awkward memory, didn't you?"  

Clark shrugs helplessly.

I shake my head at him.  "Ugh!" I bend down to pick up the cape again and flee from the room, but before my mind can catch up, I am standing with Clark inside the shower, quickly becoming as wet as he is.  I stare hard up into his eyes that are somewhat silhouetted by his dark hair.  I try to maintain a scowl, but being this close to him, wearing nothing, and seeing the adoration in his eyes, is quickly making it more and more difficult to suppress my delight.

I give up completely as Clark's large hands settle themselves on my waist and my nipples transform into hard points.  I can't tell which feels better, the hot water raining down on my body, the rush of hot moisture between my legs, or Clark's erection pressing eagerly against my belly.  My arms snake up the toned hills of Clark's torso before coming to a stop at his shoulders.  I reach up on my tiptoes and my lips brush over his.  In response, one of Clark's hands travel up my back, rumbling against my spine as he gently squeezes me to him.  Each movement of his hands makes me tremble with delight to the point that I worry I'll lose my balance.  But that's not going to happen.  With all the careful movement of Clark's hands and lips, he holds me steady, preventing me from falling.  In turn, I draw little patterns into the skin of his back and chest with my fingers as our tongues fight for dominance.  

Last night was no dream, no fantasy, no escape from countless lonely nights dreaming of what could have been.  It was a reality.   _This_ is a reality.  Eventually, Clark breaks away from me and I glance up into his eyes in anger.  Who said he break away from me?  

"You need to get cleaned up," he says quietly and thoughtfully.  He breaks away from me and, from the breeze, it seems like he supersped somewhere and now he is standing in front of me with a shower sponge, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.  All of them suspiciously like the ones I use.  Did he just superspeed to the Queen loft and grab some of my toiletries?

"Hold still," he commands softly.  I obey him as he pours some shampoo into his hand and starts delicately rubbing it into my hair.  He's so gentle, so thorough, I wonder if he ever worked at a barber shop or a beauty salon.  I close my eyes, shielding them from the suds as they cascade down my body.  His hands leave my hair momentarily and they return again, presumably with the conditioner.  All the while, I hold still, letting him cleanse me.  I never knew getting my hair washed could feel so sensual.  Every moment of his hands creates an increasingly powerful ache between my legs and I have to fight to stand up, let alone avoid grabbing his length and guiding it into my body.  Clark's hands leave my body and soon they return again.  Not to my hair, but to my body.  I reach out to grasp him, but he eludes me.

"I said hold still," he reminds me, just as softly.  This feels oddly submissive, but not in a sadomasochistic way.  Clark isn't trying to inflict pain.  He's just trying to wash my body.  

Several times my breath hitches in my throat as Clark's hands delicately roam over my body.  I crack open an eye and his face is very thoughtful, very concentrated as suds cover my body.  I'm a very delicate object and Clark seems to have accepted that it's his job to maintain it, to tend to it...to pleasure it.  The latter becomes very clear as one of his hands finds my folds.  I gasp sharply.  Clark's eyes find mine again and in that same soft voice he says, "Hold onto me."

Trembling hard, I do as he asks and I grasp his shoulders as his hand continues to explore me.  I want him inside me so badly it's painful, but it's been made very clear that Clark isn't planning on pleasing me in that fashion.  His fingers find my most sensitive spot and I cry out.

"Please, Clark," I beg him.  

He doesn't listen, but continues to create little patterns into me to the point that my legs feel like jelly and my hands tighten around his arms.  Clark takes the hint and, with his free hand, he grasps me, holding me steady as his other hand picks up speed.  

My eyes roll back into my head as my breath becomes a violent pant.  I am so tight.  I'm breaking.  Breaking.  BREAKING!  BREAK!  BRE--!

I scream as my body explodes in a supernova of sensation.  Clark turns off the now lukewarm shower and helps steady me until I am able to stand again.  As my eyes swim into focus, I see a smile spread across Clark's face.  It's not one of his boyish ear-to-ear smiles, or one of his everyday smiles that he gives to the Superman worshipers, or even a smile that he usually reserves for me.  It's small, tight-lipped.  It's contentment.  

"Merry Christmas, Chloe," he whispers delicately, bending down and brushing his lips over mine again. 

I can't seem to find any words, so I just return the kiss.  Eventually, we break away, both of us breathless.  

"Let's get dressed," he suggests.  

I nod.  "Okay." 

 

***

Besides some of my shower products, Clark brought a change of clothes for me as well as my hairbrush.  This guy knows what a girl needs.  Almost as much as my son.  Well, Clark was in a relationship with my cousin and he currently has a young woman for a roommate.  He's bound to learn a few things along the way.  

I manage to brush and dry my hair before Johnny arrives with Tess and Thea.  While Tess and Clark speak to each other, Johnny approaches me.  He studies me for a minute or two.  

"No ruffles," he says observantly.  He's referring to my hair and I self-consciously run a hand through it.  "You and Clark?"

"We love each other," I explain to him carefully.

A solemn smile lights Johnny's green eyes and he hugs me.  "I'm happy for you, Mom."

I hug him back out of love, but more out of comfort.  "I know this probably isn't easy for you, but--"

"Mother," my son cuts me off patiently, breaking away from me enough to gaze into my eyes.  "Everyday I wish that Dad was still here, but I simply want you to be happy.  I want you to  _let yourself_ be happy.  And if it's my godfather you want in life, then I won't stand in your way."

I shake my head at him as my eyes brim with tears.  "How did you get to be so wise?"

Johnny shrugs.  "I told you, I'm an observer.  And you waste most of your time trying to make sure I am in a happy place...it's only fair that I try to return the favor.  Besides, I can't be angry with you or Clark for more than five minutes."

I laugh and pull him into my arms again.  "Trying to make you happy is  _not_ a waste of my time; it's one of my greatest pleasures in life."

"Well, I'm sorry if I make it too difficult for you sometimes."

"Oh, hush," I admonish him sweetly.  "That's what makes it so exciting."

Johnny laughs.  Success!  "You're weird."

I shrug.  "It takes a weird woman to raise a weird boy."

"And keep a Wall of Weird, it seems."  Johnny breaks away from me.  "Merry Christmas, Mom."

I smile brighter.  "You too, Jonathan."  A thought crosses my mind.  "You and Tess...?"

Johnny's expression slowly shifts from watery joy to pensive solemnity.  "Way to change the atmosphere."  He goes over to one of the chairs away from Clark, who's playing with Thea.  I don't see Tess, so she must have stepped into her shower.  Makes sense as I saw she was wearing the same clothes she wore the other night.  I join Johnny.  It takes a few minutes before he speaks.  

"Tess told me that she's in love with me--or more accurately, she said she might have feelings for me," explains Johnny.  

I try to act surprised.  "Um, what did you say?"

Johnny breathes deeply as he shoves a loose strand of his hair out of his face.  "I told her I had to think about it."

Not exactly a girl's favorite six words to hear from a guy, buddy.  Although, they are considerably less harsh than, "I wish I felt the same way, but I don't."  Sometimes, I think that Johnny is way more considerate of girls' feelings than Clark is.  Or even Oliver was for that matter. 

"How did she take it?" I ask carefully.

"She seemed disappointed to say the least, but understanding at the same time," replies Johnny.

I exhale slowly as I reach across the table and grasp my son's hand.  "It's because of your past relationship with Aimee, isn't it?"

Johnny nods.  "Aimee was my best friend before our relationship blossomed into romance.  We dated for over two years and then I broke up with her when I was distraught and I refused to let anybody in.  Tess..."  he exhales.  "Tess was always my friend.  Sometimes, I feel like she was my friend before I even met Aimee.  She was the person who always made me feel included when everyone else was otherwise preoccupied.  Then, when she was given a real body, I not only had somebody I could play mind games with and scheme, I had this really beautiful young woman that I could actually bond with.  I was the first person to help her indulge in the things that she missed in her robotic form."  He laughs a little.  "I had never seen somebody enjoy ice cream, popcorn, and Indian food so much."  

I smile.  "You took it upon yourself to be her friend when she needed it," I sum up.  "And she fell in love with you because of it."

"Yeah, I guess so," agrees Johnny.  Then he frowns again.  "But I don't know.  I want to repair my relationship with Aimee--if not romantically, at least to the point that we can be friends again.  Then Tess tells me that she has feelings for me."  He scoffs.  "I tried so hard not to get myself sucked into a love triangle, and now here I am." 

I laugh wryly.  "How do you feel about both girls?"

Johnny sits up straighter.  "Well, best part about them both, is that they aren't by any means whiny girls.  Off topic, but I still don't understand how Clark loved Lana."  I hope Clark wasn't paying attention.  "Maybe he didn't and nobody was aggressive enough to show what they had to offer and then spare him from years of useless pining."  Are you admonishing me, young man?  "Well, back on topic, Aimee...she's the girl who I think singlehandedly saved me from what could have been a lonely time at high school."  He smiles nostalgically.  "She's the girl that showed me what it was like to be punched by a Smallvillian farm girl."

I shake my head at the memory.  "I still can't believe you  _asked_ a girl to punch you."

Johnny frowns at me.  "I needed help satisfying my journalistic curiosity," he reminds me.  "But anyway, I also think I helped smooth her transition from a Midwestern town to a Californian port city.  She got me interested in the outdoors and was usually the one to get me to get out of the house.  I speak to her when I was having a bad day, when I needed comic relief.  She's a cynical beauty and I love it.  And we gave each other a taste of romance.  She was never a needy girl and we knew when and when not to give each other space."

I smile.  Aimee is a special girl and even I ended up making friends with her.  In fact, we still call each other at least once a week.

"Now as for Tess, like I said, she was a friend to me on some level for as long as I can remember.  And now as she has a real body, I have pretty much done for her what Aimee did for me and more.  Tess is somebody who has been someone I can call a friend and somebody--outside my family--who could make me feel at home, or even welcome, in the hero world.  

"Really the only major con is the age difference.  Not the current age difference where I am eighteen and she is a twenty-three-year-old, but..."

"I know what you mean, sweetie," I say.  

"I asked about it--subtly of course--but she only remembers being acquainted with Dad; she has no memory of being in a relationship with him, so I guess that's an upside," continues Johnny thoughtfully.  That  _is_ an upside.  "Both Aimee and Tess are great girls and as aforementioned, they aren't whiny, or stifling, or even annoying."

Tess has annoyed me quite a bit in the past as we had very different agendas, but that's not the Tess my son knows.  I smile and squeeze my son's hand a little.  "You're a great guy, Johnny," and I mean it.  "You are right about them both being great girls and I hope that you can at least be friends with Aimee again."  I could tell him that Aimee really does want to be his friend again, but I want him to really work towards rebuilding his relationship with him friends.  "As for Tess, I really don't know what to tell you, but if you decide to give a relationship with her a chance, she'd be damn lucky to call you her boyfriend."

Johnny studies me for a minute.  "Have I told you how awesome you are?"

I give him one of my youthful ear-to-ear smiles.  "Yes, but frequent reminders are always appreciated.  Now let's open presents, you silly stud."

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

My body is vibrating.  Tremors are flowing from my fingers to my toes and back up again in an almost electrical current.  My head is tossing to and fro.  My back is arching in a bow as my body loses its battle to keep still.  Large, impossibly smooth hands are traveling in smooth circles between my breasts and my sides, coming up every-so-often to my lips whereupon I try to capture one of the fingers in my lips and suck gently.  I look down and there is a mess of black hair between my legs.  Somewhere, there is a tongue attached to that head and it's drawing patterns into my most sensitive places.  Places I didn't even know could feel so intense.  

I want him to stop.  I want him to never stop.  I want him to slow down.  I want him to speed up.  The little bit of my brain that seems to still be working through all the sensation fills me with worry that I'd have to be institutionalized.  At least I'll go crazy as a happy woman.  

Say goodbye to vibrators.  Say goodbye to porn.  Say goodbye to _Playgirl._  Clark Kent's tongue, while terrible at forming words at the best of times, is a highly sophisticated tool of pleasure whether in my mouth or in my clit.  It's my heroine and I can't get enough of it.

Finally, my body can't take it anymore as my body--reluctantly--climaxes.  I scream, but Clark doesn't slow down.  He doesn't stop.  Just keeps teasing and flicking as, at last, the tremors fade away.  Finally, Clark snakes up the bed to join me by my side and I rest my head under his chin.  

"I don't trust you anymore."

I lift my head from where it was resting under Clark's sweat-slick chin as I gape at him.  "What?  Why?" what reason would Clark have not trust _me_? 

"You scream for me, I hear your heart beating rapidly, you make me think you are in danger and I arrive at your house while your son is at school and your daughter is at daycare just find you wearing a red teddy with black lace," admonishes Clark.

That teddy has long been discarded and I can't help but smile smugly.  "I  _was_ in danger!" I protest.

"Of what?  Lack of release?  Lack of me?  Or were you just incapable of...playing with yourself?" Clark tsks.  

I prop myself up on my elbows over Clark, straddling him as I gaze down into his beautiful eyes quizzically.  "Are you telling me you didn't enjoy yourself?"  My voice becomes quieter and more fearful.  "Are you telling me that you are bored with me?"

Clark's eyes widen and all I can do is throw my head back and laugh.

"It's not funny, Chloe!" he yells.

"It is," I dribble out between laughs.  

"Chloe, seriously, I need to be able to tell the difference between when you are  _actually_ in danger and when you just want me to make love to you!" he explains sharply.  "I love making love to you, but what if you end up actually being in danger and I end up not being able to tell the difference?"

I stop laughing and think about that for a minute.  He does have a point.  I let out a defeated sigh as roll off of him and rest my head underneath his chin again.  "You're right, Clark.  Sorry."

"Forgiven and forgotten," promises Clark, giving me a gentle squeeze.  "I feel bad about ripping your teddy in half though."

I laugh.  "It was tacky.  Besides," I whisper in a husky voice, "I haven't even gone down on you yet."

Clark rolls his eyes as I slide down his body.  "Are you trying to give me a cold?  You know how explosive my sneezes are."

I stop for a minute.  "Are you worn out?"  

He's a bad liar and it's no use trying to lie to me.  "Not at all."

"Then shut up, farmboy," I order as I take him in my mouth.  

I love doing this to him, the empowerment of it, knowing that Clark is mine to do with as I please.  Although, I do wish I could have a memory wipe so that I can relive the experience of discovering every inch of his body with my hands and lips and tongue.  

As these couple of months have passed by, I feel like I have died and gone to heaven.  I feel like I am reliving my childhood all over again.  Well, not all of it.  Just the parts that involved Clark being so close to me and more.  I feel how I felt the day Clark took me to Spring Formal.  If I ignore how that evening ended and my insecurities about what felt--at the time--like an endless competition with Lana Lang, it was perhaps one of the happiest moments of my life.  Being in Clark's arms, telling me that I am beautiful, asking me if he remembered to tell me that I am beautiful, smiling at me like am the only woman even worthy of his attention...all of that felt every night and day.  

"Girlfriend" sounds so weird when you're a mother, but Clark has started introducing me as his girlfriend and each time it fills me with very un-Chloe-like joy.  I can be so happy that I am laughing and bouncing up and down like a silly little girl like when I am given a story or I get Clark to do something like play Santa Claus and take care of some toys for tots, but waking at least two or three times a week with Clark in my arms, having dinner with him at least once a week, whether it's here in Star City, or in Metropolis, or at home when Clark decides to commandeer my kitchen--even if it's not just the two of us--Lois could come in from Gotham and beat the hell out of me and I'd still be smiling.  

I sure hope she doesn't do that to me.  She's planning on coming over for Easter next month, so I hope that she doesn't hurt me.  Clark might strong-arm her, or worse Johnny might strong-arm her.  I don't really like to compare, but as much as Clark has made it undeniably clear that I am his woman, Johnny is a lot more protective of me.  Not that Clark doesn't care about me, but I'm Johnny's mother.  I even gave him permission to involve kryptonite in case Clark breaks my heart.  As long as the suffering lasts and death doesn't come.  

And the sex...  Could anything possibly more beautiful, intense, pleasurable, or addictive than making love to Clark Kent?  Were Kryptonians sex gods?  Are they just naturally better at pleasures of the flesh than humans?  I might have gotten into a conversation about it once with Diana Prince, as Clark briefly dated her, and she told me that all twelve volumes that she read on sex ed when she growing up on Themyscira that men were dull and unnecessary for pleasure.  Clark Kent is no mere man and all she would say to me as she played with her antique watch--a memento from her first love, Steve Trevor--is that those volumes could take a page out of Clark's sex ed.  

Either way, sex with Clark Kent is intense.  

On a more sensitive level, Clark has talked about starting a family one day.  Oh, my God, the thought of exchanging vows with Clark Kent is almost enough to make me weightless.  I could tell him that even though I am in my forties, I don't seem to be aging the way I am supposed to.  Thea is a plenty of proof--at least for me--that I am not even likely to reach menopause.  So, I could bare children.  I could bare Clark's children.  I do have to think about Johnny, but I know that he just wants me to be happy and he hasn't given me any reason to believe that he would be appalled to have more brothers and sisters.  Maybe it won't bother him having half-siblings who are half Kryptonian.  

Clark hasn't proposed to me (I think he wants to give it some time before we rush into marriage; I am a mother after all) but at the same time, I haven't told him that I would love to bare his children.  I might not end up calling myself Mrs. Kent--that title belonged to Martha--but Sullivan-Kent really has a nice ring to it in my mind.

Clark is coming.  I can tell that he is trying very hard to hold it back, but he can't as my mouth and tongue tease and suck at him.  In my mind, I am almost screaming "Come for me, Clark!" over and over again.  Every twitch excites me.  Every moan that escapes Clark's lips makes me feel like the most powerful woman to walk on earth.  The first gush of come escapes, but as he did to me, I don't back away or lose any of my momentum.  I don't stop until the tremors fade.  At last I rejoin him.

"Okay,  _now_ I am worn out," pants Clark.  

"Oh, God please don't start sneezing," I plead.

Clark laughs.  "I'm not  _that_ worn out."  He shifts on the bed and props his head up on his arm as he begins to draw invisible patterns into my back.  I just sink into the bed and let him touch me.  "So, now that we can actually talk, how are things with Johnny?"

I turn my head a little so that I can show him my proud smile.  "He's really making up with his friends."  I laugh.  "It's seems natural that Oliver Queen's son would find himself a friend who is a hacker."  Felicity Smoak is a brilliant, albeit awkward and spazzy girl and Johnny was one of the first people to befriend her.  Johnny always did seem to be good at making friends with outcasts.  I love him for it.  "He and his other friend, John Diggle, they seem to have patched things up with each other.  I do think it helps that Dig, as he calls him, knows what it's like to lose someone he loves."

"And Aimee?" asks Clark.

I groan.  "She..." I smack my lips.  "She is a work in progress."  I frown up at my man--ooh,  _my_ man!  Just thinking it still makes me tremble with delight.  "She beat the hell out of him!  Black eyes, a cut on cheek, broken nose...I just happy he didn't lose any of his teeth.  I can't heal that."

Clark takes a moment, letting that all sink in.  "Did you heal him though?"

I sigh thoughtfully.  "I healed him to the point that I took most of the swelling and pain away, but you know Star City.  They aren't as welcome to the meteor-infected, or to mutants, and really almost nobody in this town knows my powers, so as much as I wanted to, I didn't completely heal his face."

"I thought he recently discovered he was self-healing?" reminds Clark.

"He is, and it scares him because of said less-enthusiastic town," I share.  I roll over on my side so I can gaze into Clark's eyes more clearly.  "Clark, I had to stop him from hurting himself just so that he could look as if his cuts and bruises are healing at a normal rate.  He's never had a cold, nor a fever, nor even chickenpox.  And even if he didn't recently discover that flesh wounds heal pretty quickly, growing up when I would heal him, he would have to make himself look silly by pretending he was recovering from an injury.  Only his friends know about my healing abilities.  This town sometimes takes its toll on my family."

In fact, it's one of the reasons, besides wanting to be closer to Clark, that I have recently started looking into apartments in Metropolis.  Something big enough that I can share it with my children and that can accommodate a piano for Johnny, but definitely more middle class and cheaper than what my personal fortune--without Oliver Queen's money--can afford.  I haven't told Clark anything about it yet.  I won't tell him anything about it until I have spoken to Johnny.  He will definitely want to finish his high school education at Star City High, but will he want to keep the Queen Mansion?  It holds almost as many unbearably sad memories for him as it does for me.  Maybe he'll want to move to Metropolis with me at least until he heads for college, even if it doesn't end up being MetU.

Clark's hand stops its motion on my back and squeezes my shoulder gently.  "If there's one thing I know about you, Chloe, is that you always overcome every milestone placed in front of you."  

I gape at him.  "Just one thing about me?"

Clark smiles deviously.  "Well, I know that you are an amazing reporter, I know that it is a proven impossibility for me to place any kind of distance between us for very long, know that you are the most beautiful woman in the whole world, I know that you are the love of my life, I know the names of all your freckles--"

"What!" I laugh.  "You named my freckles?"  

Clark offers a stupid shrug.  "That little triangle of freckles on your left cheek are Walters, Kahn, and Bly."  

My hand goes instinctively to my cheek as a laugh escapes my lips.  "Are all my freckles named after journalists?"

"Only the best ones," replies Clark.

I gape at him again.  "What, I am not the best journalist of all time?"  I scoff.  "That's it Clark Kent, get the hell out of my bed!"

A look of horror passes Clark's face.  "What?  No!  Of course, you're the best journalist of all time!  I--!"  His horror melts into annoyance as I laugh again.  Should I feel bad about torturing the poor alien?  Nah, it's too much fun.

I decide to change the subject.  "How's Tess?"  

Clark face becomes more thoughtful again as he lies down on his back, staring up at the ceiling.  "She's...she's doing okay."

A moment of silence passes between us.  As I suggested to him, Johnny took Tess out on a date to one of his favorite Indian restaurants and while he said the date went well, he and Tess had come to the same conclusion.  She's his best friend and Johnny shared with me that maybe Tess was just desperate for affection and he was the most worthy person.  I can say that Johnny has turned out better than Oliver did in his childhood.  Johnny has never been a bully.  In fact, I've seen him reach out to classmates who were feeling left out from the larger crowd.  It's left him with this breakfast club of misfits, but Johnny always told me that he never liked seeing people cry.  When Tess was given a real body, he reached out to her the most and, probably given the original Tess Mercer's history with Oliver, this Tess might have had some feelings towards my son.  But still, they both realized that they were better off as friends.  

Johnny came home feeling bad because if there is one thing that he hates doing above all else is upsetting people who didn't deserve it.  That was back in January, but in the couple of months that have passed, he and Tess are as close as ever.  

"Has Tess dated anyone?" I ask.  

"No she hasn't," replies Clark.  "Seems that a lot of guys are intimidated by a powerful woman.  But I have faith that she'll find somebody sometime."

"Are you intimidated by me?" I ask teasingly.

Clark glances at me with a raised eyebrow.  "Depends on the day, Chlo and sorry to disappoint you, but today is not one of those days."

I grumble.  Clark looks at his watch.  "Oh, boy, I really need to get back to Metropolis; I have a meeting."

I whimper and trying to capture him as he gets up.  "Do you have to leave now?"  Even if he wants to take a shower, it would only take him less than a minute.  

Clark gets on his knees beside the bed and grasps my hands.  "I'll come back for you," he promises huskily.  "I swear it."

I glance from his eyes to his hands and back again.  "Cheesy romantic really doesn't work on you."  

Clark shrugs as he stands up.  He doesn't even give me a minute to admire his ass before he is in his clothes again and his hair is slightly damp from his speedy shower.  "Can't say I didn't try.  Love you, Chlo."  And he's gone.  

I exhale as I roll my eyes.  "Love you too, you big moron."  

I sit up and grab the remote to see what's on TV.  When I flick on the news, the remote falls from my hand.  "Oh, my God," I hear myself breathe.  

Star City High is on fire.  

"Johnny."  


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Not even bothering with finger-combing my hair, I hastily pull on some clothes as I scramble out of my house.  I'm about halfway to the school before I realize that I forgot to put on a pair of panties below my jeans.  At least I remembered a bra.  I don't need to traumatize my son and myself by giving everyone a clear view of my breasts below my white top.  On a good day, a drive to Star City High is a solid twenty minutes give or take a traffic light.  I made it twelve and thankfully without running a red light or being pulled over by the police.  Not that I would have cared beyond the delay in getting to the school.  It's a Saturday.  Johnny didn't even have to be here, but he volunteered to tutor and so he traded enjoying his weekend with no homework for helping classmates who weren't doing as well in their classes.  And thus, provoking my frantic worry.

As expected though, when I do get to the school, I find the whole area closed off by the police and fire department.  I park on the side of the street--which may or may not have been a legal place to park--and I rush out.  The whole north side of the school is ablaze and I can feel the heat of it even as I step out of my car.  I scan the parking lot and I see Johnny's Audi R8.  Still the fanciest thing that he owns, but that aside, that lets me know that he is still here somewhere.  I join the throng of worried parents.  Gently, I push past a few people until I get to the front where I find some news people--some of which I recognize from the Register--and the students and teachers who look like they have just finished filing out.  Some of those students are probably happy for the excuse to be out of detention.  

I scan the small crowd of students and teachers as they are escorted behind the caution tape.  It doesn't take me long to spot Johnny.  We lock eyes for a minute and a wave of relief rains down on me like a heavy downpour.  Curiously though, he breaks eye contact with me and scans the people who have been filed out of the building.  I watch as his expression starts with worry before intensifying into that of pure horror.  I see him talk a little with his friend Felicity Smoak.  I've never been too good at lip-reading, but it looks like he's asking her to create some sort of distraction.

Those thoughts are confirmed when I watch Felicity's eyes flutter before falling to the ground as if she fainted.  I then watch as Johnny yells for help, whereupon a couple of paramedics rush over as well as a firefighter or two.  It was a distraction.  I then watch Johnny get up and start running.  Towards the burning building.  What the hell is he doing?

I lift the caution tape and rush after him.  "JONATHAN, STOP!" I scream.  

Johnny stops a few feet away from the doors and turns back a little, locking eyes with me.  

"DON'T GO IN THERE, PLEASE  _DON'T GO IN THERE_!" I wail.  

Johnny offers me an apologetic gesture with his arms and face...and then he turns around and disappears into the building. 

Now my horror has stepped into overload.  "JONATHAN!" I try to rush after him, but a couple of firefighters catch me and start dragging me towards the safe zone, despite my protests.  "Please, you don't understand, my son is in there,  _PLEASE_!"  To my annoyance, out of the corner of my ear, I begin hearing the news people talk about me.  Oh, God, my screams and thrashing are going to be televised.  

I try to make for the school again, but large, strong--and very familiar--arms wrap around me and lift me off my feet, stopping me.  I continue to scream and thrash like a wild animal as I am hauled away from the the crowd.  Understandably, everybody clears a path for the two of us, most of them probably not wanting to accidentally get kicked by the woman with messy hair, a white top that is on inside out, jeans, and boots.  

Only when we disappear behind a car am I put down.  Again, I make a run towards the building, only to be stopped--again.  

"CLARK, GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!" I shriek at the top of my lungs.  

Clark's arms don't budge.

"Clark, please," I beg him, my voice breaking.  "Johnny is in there; please, let me go!"

"Chloe, stop," says Clark calmly.

I stop dead in mid-thrash.  Not by Clark's words, but by the calmness of his voice.  I slowly turn around and face him.  He's in the same clothes he was wearing when he left my house for his meeting barely an hour ago.  

"Why...are...you...so  _calm_?" I ask him in a deadly whisper.  "Better yet,  _why the fuck haven't you GOTTEN MY SON OUT OF THAT BUILDING YET_!"  

"Chloe--"

"Don't 'Chloe' me, you parentless, spouseless son-of-a-bitch!" I warn him.  "My son is in a  _burning building_ and all you can do is stand there and with 'Please calm down' at the tip of your tongue?  Why haven't you gotten him out of that building yet?  Why is the building still on fire?  How can you stand here like a fucking idiot?  How could you waste time worrying about a meeting when you ought to have heard my son calling for help or at least his heart beating at an accelerated pace?  Are you only interested in fucking me and not so much about the welfare of my children?  How--?"  I stop midstream and register the tears beading in Clark's eyes.  

Oh, my God.  I cover my mouth in horror.  I reach out, just to offer Clark my hand, but at that same instant, there is an explosion.  I whip around towards the building.  The windows have blown out.  " _NO_!"  I scream, falling to my knees.  "Jonathan!"  I wail and cry harder than I think I have ever wailed or cried in my entire life.  "My baby...Johnny..." I am on the ground now, hiccuping with sobs.  First Oliver--twice--now my son.  "I love you so much."  

"Chloe..." I feel Clark's hand on my shoulder.

" _Go away, you piece of shit_!" I shriek, rising to my feet so fast I nearly lose my footing.  "Just go!  Get out of here!  I-I can't even look at you!"

 _"Chloe_!"

"What?" I scream at him, my eyes wild.  

His expression impassive, he turns me around.  "Look," is all he says.  It takes a minute or two and then I see it.  It's Johnny...and he's carrying someone in his arms.  Dark hair, jeans, blue flannel shirt, black high-heeled boots...that's Aimee.  Johnny went inside to save someone.  The crowd seems to have gotten the same idea as they erupt in applause for my son.  

"Clark, I'm so..." I begin as I turn around, but I only find emptiness, "Sorry."

Not wasting time with that, I return to the crowd and I rush past everyone.  I ignore the yellow tape again and I rush towards my son just as some paramedics take Aimee away from him on a stretcher.  I collide with him in a tight hug.  He hugs me back, softly. 

"Oh, God, I thought I'd lost you!" I wail as I rain kisses all over his cheeks.  "You stupid, stupid boy, how could you do that to me?"

Johnny takes a really long time finding my eyes.  He looks--in shock?  His face and white shirt are covered smoke and singe marks and his hand...oh, God, his hand has a large hole in it!  Why does his hand have a large, bloody hole in it?  My curiosity is cut short when he starts coughing.  Some more paramedics come and I help them steer him towards an ambulance.  They give him a mask to breathe into and one of them inspects his hand.  Strangely, judging by the size of it, it looks like--an arrow wound?  Either way, the wound is quickly cleaned up and they stitch it up.  They don't need to do that.  At the rate Johnny has been healing lately, that wound would be closed up and gone within fifteen minutes at the most.  Removing those stitches is just going to make things more complicated.  

"Mrs. Queen," that's my name.  Still.  I turn around and come face to face with a reporter I know from the Register.  "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

I narrow my eyes at the woman, then I observe my son who is clearly in shock and I don't think it's because he was just in a burning building.  I turn back to the reporter.  "No comment," I reply coolly.

"Your son just rushed into a burning building while ignoring your pleas for him to stop and he comes out with an unconscious young woman.  What do you have to say about that?" asks the reporter.

"I said  _no comment_ ," I repeat with a hiss.  "If the Star City Register has a problem with that then they can kiss my ass."  At that same moment, one of the paramedics tells me that Johnny is good to go and I steer him away from the crowd, with reporters and camera people close behind.  I'm going to have to do something about his car.  Not right now.  I help him into my car and soon we are on the road towards home.  

The whole trip home, I am seething.  Insolent, stupid, reckless brat!  And he hasn't even spoken a word yet.  When we get home, we are barely through the door before I unload on him.  

"How could you do this to me?" I shout, slamming the door behind me so hard that I frighten Artemis away as she comes to greet her master.  "I specifically told you not to go into that building, yet you  _disobeyed me_.  You scared the life out out of me and worse, Clark wouldn't even go in and rescue you.  How could you be so foolish as to walk into a burning building and why does your hand have that hole in it--?"  Johnny just stands there unmoving, not even looking me in the eye.  " _ANSWER ME_!" and I swing my hand at him as hard as I possibly can, causing him to fall to the ground.

Panting hard, I watch as he slowly rises to his feet.  He touches his cheek and then looks at his fingers.   _Oh, my God..._ I cover my mouth in horror, both at what I just did and the result.  My son's cheek is bleeding and  _I_ caused that!

"So that's what that feels like," says Johnny, still looking at his hand.  "I ask Clark to keep you from rushing into the building as I go to save the life of someone I care about--a _pyrophobic_ in case you don't remember--then I fight and kill a man-clone-whatever that looked, fought  _and_ sounded like my dad, then the city saw me save someone's life without wearing a purple hood or carrying a bow, and finally..." he locks eyes with me and I try to reach for him, but he backs away from me.  "...finally, my mother uses the word 'stupid' in my direction and slaps me...both for the first time."  

Tears that feel like tennis balls roll down my cheeks.  "Johnny, I'm so sorry, please--" I reach for him again, but he holds his hand out, stopping me.

"I need a shower," he declares coolly and I stand frozen as he ascends the stairs and disappears around the corner.  

"What have I done?" I whisper to myself, gripping my stomach.  I just assaulted my son.  I just spoke cruel words to both my son and the man I love.  My knees suddenly feel so weak that I collapse to the floor on my knees.  I try to form the words "I'm sorry," but my sobs come crashing out of me.  I just curl into a ball and wail.    


	16. Chapter Sixteen

I don't know how long I am curled up in a ball in the foyer, crying my eyes out and dribbling out apologies that I am sure nobody is listening to.  Surely Clark would hear me, but why would he listen?  After all those horrible things I said to him?  How could I say those things to him?  Parentless.  Spouseless.  Son-of-a-bitch.  Each of those words echo in my ears painfully and I wish I could just drown out the sounds of them by covering my ears with my hands.  In all the years I have known him, I have never said such cruel words to him.  I might have given him the cold shoulder and offered not-so-subtle signs of my resentment towards him for various reasons (standing me up at Spring Formal, chief among them) but I never said such cruel words to him.

And Johnny.  Oh, my God.  He's going to hate me.  I swore to myself that I would never lay a hand on my children ages ago and I just hit my son with such force, catching him so off-guard that I knocked him to the ground.  I still feel the sting on my hand where I slapped him.  How did I knock him to the ground?  Clark and I may not have been using protection in bed, but I had my period recently, so I can rule out pregnancy.  

He was in shock.  He said that he fought and killed something that looked like his father.  As that thought crossed my mind, I stop rocking back and forth and stare at the ceiling.  My son fought something that looked and fought like his father.  Why?  Oliver is dead, so why would Johnny have fought something that looked like his...  It was a clone.  It had to be.  To this day the only known cloning facilities that have offered positive results is LuthorCorp.  LuthorCorp is defunct; it would have to have been Luthor Industries. 

Did Luthor Industries create a clone of my dead husband?  If so, what was its objective--?  It set the fire at the school.  It must have drawn my son in, hoping to kill him, or at least traumatize him.  That thought makes me clench my fists so hard my knuckles turn white and my nostrils to flare.  

Just then, I hear a knock on the door.  I hastily rise to my feet.  Almost too fast as I wobble a little before regaining my footing.  I do my best to smooth my hair and clothes as I head for the door.  I open it and I couldn't be more surprised by who I see.  Dark hair, old leather jacket, worn jeans, work boots, same fair complexion as his daughter...it's Aimee's dad. 

"Mr. Marek," I greet.  

"Mrs. Queen," he acknowledges.  "May I come in?"

I clear my throat.  "Oh, yes, please do."  I open the door wider and step aside.  Roy Marek is the last person I ever expected to show up on my doorstep.  

He looks about as awkward as I feel.  I try to start things off.  "Um, how's Aimee?"

"She's...she'll be alright," replies Mr. Marek.  "When she regained consciousness, she started thrashing around and crying--punched one of the paramedics, even--but I was able to get her to calm down.  My daughter and fire..."  A fresh wave of guilt hits me.  I don't remember Johnny ever telling me why Aimee was afraid of fire, but I do know that he helped her become brave enough to be near a campfire and enjoy fireworks.  

"Um, is your son here?" asks Mr. Marek.  

I gulp.  "He's pretty shaken up about the whole ordeal," not really a lie, "he might not be ready to talk to anyone at the moment."  

Mr. Marek seems disappointed, but just as quickly a look of understanding crosses his features.  "Well, tell him I said thank you."

I smile.  "I'll do that."

"And, Mrs. Queen," he begins, "you should be really proud of your son.  He's a hero.  And he has my blessing should he want to try and be friends with my daughter again." 

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out.  I don't know what to say.  

Mr. Marek looks at his watch.  "Um, I-I really must be going now, but tell your son I stopped by."  I step aside again and show him out.  

"Ms. Sullivan," I blurt out.  

Mr. Marek stops in mid-stride and looks back at me questioningly.  

"Please call me 'Ms. Sullivan,'" I request confidently.  

Mr. Marek smiles at me.  "Ms. Sullivan, thank you for raising such a good man."  And without another word, he descends the rest of the stairs and walks to his car.  I watch him until he disappears down the street.  

"You're welcome," I reply solemnly.  My son saved someone's life and he wasn't wearing a costume.  The world saw Jonathan Sullivan-Queen save someone's life.

I have to apologize to him.  I close the door and I head up the stairs of the house that almost no longer feels like my home.  I pass Thea's nursery.  She's there.  Oh, God, I forgot to pick my daughter up from daycare!  Clark must have brought her home for me.  She's fast asleep.  Shaking my head, I continue and my approach becomes a lot softer as I reach my son's bedroom.  I hear his voice...and someone else's.  He's not alone.  I tiptoe the rest of the way to his room and I press my ear to the door.  

"...my mother hates me," moans my son.  

The other voice scoffs.  "Johnny, don't be absurd; your mother does not hate you."  Thank you, Clark.  

"Clark, look at my face!" cries my son.  My eyes squeeze shut as fresh tears bead in my eyes.  "My mother has _never_ slapped me in my life.  I would have thought that she would rather cut off her hands than do this to me after Dad slapped her--"

"Wait," Clark cuts him off.  "When did Oliver slap your mother?"  I get the strange feeling that he is asking me directly.  Surely he knows that I am on the other side of this door, eavesdropping.

Johnny sighs.  "It was when I was fourteen.  After Mom brought me back to life after being gunned down by those thugs and she was...'dead' for hours.  In that moment, I thought my mother was the greatest superhero of all time--no offense, Clark,"  Clark just laughs, "but Dad...he was freaking out.  A lot of 'Chloe, you have to be careful about this' and 'Of course, I'm proud that Johnny is alive!' and 'Chlo, remember how crazy I went when you went off the grid and started working with the Suicide Squad?' and finally, Mom brought the argument to a climax when she said, 'Fine, Oliver, I'm sorry I saved our son's life!  I'm sorry that I was _so_ concerned about losing our son that my powers made an unexpected, but well-timed comeback, is that what you want to hear?' and then Dad slapped so hard, I heard her yelp."

Clark is silent for several minutes.  No doubt he is seething.  "Your mother never told me," he finally said quietly.  "I remember hearing her yelp, but when I confronted her, just to see if she was okay, she told me that she had simple spilled hot coffee into her lap.  She even had a coffee stain on her pants to prove it.  Why would she keep something like that from me?" that question is so fierce that I  _know_ he is saying it directly to me.  

"Clark, before you go knocking down every monument dedicated to either my dad or the Green Arrow, let me remind you that Mom had me to worry about," Johnny reminds him.  "I was already pretty torn up about dying and coming back to life like Lazarus.  Plus, have you stopped to consider that maybe she was just in shock and it was easier for her to try and bury it as deeply as possible instead of facing it?"

I gape.  How assertive of you, Johnny.  Clark seems to think so too.  "When did you get to be so psychoanalytical?" he asks with a laugh.  

"Clark, I do volunteer work at group therapy seminars on the weekends--not limited to the Isis Foundation, remember?" counters Johnny indignantly.  

Clark chuckles.  "You always did like to reach out to people."

"I have nothing better to do a lot of the times," says Johnny solemnly.  "But I have to say that going to group therapy seminars really helps me too." 

Long silence follows.  I really want to open this door and join the two of them, but I don't want to break this interaction between my son and who I hope is still my boyfriend.  Plus, why would either of them want to even look at me right now?  Sure, Clark could simply see through the door and gaze at me, but I doubt that he's even doing that.  Also, I can never explain it, but I always felt some sort of telltale tingle when Clark focuses his gaze on me--with or without x-ray vision and I am not feeling that right now.  

"Johnny, if you don't mind me asking, what happened in the school?" asks Clark gently.  "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but..."

"I don't know," Johnny cuts him off so quietly that I have to strain myself to hear him.  "I was just tutoring AP English to one of my classmates and suddenly all the fire alarms were sounding.  I filed out of the building like everyone else did, but when I got out, I didn't find Aimee anywhere.  I don't know if you remember this, but Aimee--"

"Aimee was that little girl that I saved from that cornfield fire in Smallville ten years ago," confirms Clark, proudly.  He laughs.  "Who would have thought that one day I--or at least somebody I care about would cross paths with somebody I saved so many years ago?"  I remember that cornfield fire.  Officially, the cause is unknown, but several--including myself, believe that there was a malfunction at the old LuthorCorp plant and, before Superman could get there and put out the fire, several acres of farmland was turned to ash.  Luckily, there were no casualties.  

"Aimee has been afraid of fire ever since," continues Johnny.  "She told me that for weeks, her family didn't cook anything on the stove because the flame scared the crap out of her and they didn't have the money to replace the gas stove with an electric one.  The first few months I knew her, I could barely roast marshmallows with her over a campfire without her squeezing my arm.  I knew that she was in the building and I saw that the fire was in the same area as the school's newspaper.  I didn't see her anywhere, so I rushed in to save her."

"Why didn't you let me help?" asks Clark.  I'd really like to know the answer to that question too, you stu--fresh tears tumble down my cheeks as a fresh pang of guilt stabs me.  

Johnny sighs.  "Well, I really did need you to keep Mom from rushing in after me, but also...also..." through the door I hear him begin to cry.  

"It's okay, Johnny, take your time," soothes Clark.  He's always been a natural when it came to comforting my boy.  

"I just needed closure," confesses Johnny, his voice a little high-pitched from his cries.

"Closure?" repeats Clark.  "Why?"  

"Clark, I put so much of my time and effort into saving my dad from that mind-controlling parasite in his head and all I ended up with was a giant mushroom cloud far off into the coast of California!" sobs my son.  "Do you have any idea what that is like?"  

"More than you know, Johnny," replies Clark quietly.  "I've already lost too many people I care about in my life and half of them was from good intention gone awry.  I lost my adoptive father because I turned back time to save a woman I no longer have any feelings for.  Your mother lost the first man she married because I--we--weren't willing to kill a monster.  I lost a man I called my friend because I was too insecure about my heritage to be completely honest with everyone.  More than once, I thought I nearly lost your mother's friendship for good in my life."

Johnny is sobbing very hard now and I really want to take him in my arms and let him cry into my shoulder.  "Clark, I just wanted to go to bed tonight knowing that I saved someone I care about without there being anyone who might strike back and make me lose her all over again.  I've felt like a failure for months now and...now I no longer feel like a failure and yet...I've never felt worse."

"Because your mother slapped you?" asks Clark.

"That and I fought and killed a man that looked like my father," says Johnny.  He laughs wryly.  "Turns out it was a good thing you didn't come anyway because some of that  _thing's_ weapons were made of kryptonite.  I can't even begin to tell you what  _that_ felt like."

"Like you just murdered your father," says Clark understandingly.  "But he wasn't."

"Still, I feel like I literally have my dad's blood on my hands," whines Johnny.  "And the things he said to me.  Calling me a delusional boy with empty hopes of being just like my dad.  Being the son of a man who was once great, but weakened by the sentimentality of being a husband and father."  He sighs.  "Well, you are only the second person I have said this to, but lately, I've felt that I don't want to be a hero."

"What!" exclaims Clark and nearly me too.  "What do you mean?"

"I talked about it with Tess when we went on our date, but I feel like I have been going through a bit of self-discovery lately," explains Johnny, his voice becoming clearer and less tearful.  "Clark, I'm a guy who was given a tiny bow before I was even given my first pacifier.  I have been learning how to be a warrior when other kids were playing baseball, soccer, and tossing a football back and forth with their dads.  Lately I've been feeling like I am just turning into a carbon copy of my parents--an archer, a hacker, business-smart, and a journalistic streak.  Not that I don't love helping people, nor that I don't love journalism, but I feel like some of the only things I did on my own--besides taking up sword-fighting and bojutsu--have been learning to play the piano, researching therapy, and developing a fashion sense.  

"Clark, what if being a superhero is not my calling?  What if I am meant for something other than putting on a costume at night and brandishing a bow and bo staff?"

Another bit of silence follows.  Despite myself, a smile is spreading across my lips.  I've never been so proud of my son.

"I'm proud of you, Johnny," Clark says finally.

Johnny scoffs.  "What?  I-I thought you of all people would..."

"You thought I would be disappointed in you?" asks Clark incredulously.  "Johnny, you're allowed to be your own person.  It's why you chose to wear a purple hood and black costume instead of a green one.  And if your mother is half the woman I think she is, she would be very proud of you."

It's very subtle, but I catch the hint of admonishment in his tone.  I suddenly feel very meek, like a child standing before her father after having done something horribly wrong.  Which I have.  

"Speaking of my mother, are you breaking up with her?" asks Johnny.  

Those words hit me like an icy blast of water and now I really want to know.  

"I don't know," says Clark.  "She said some very mean things to me outside of that school and I think it had more to do with just the fact that I wasn't rushing into that building and saving you.  Plus, I'll confess, I've always been worried about how you feel about my relationship with your mother."

Then the most unexpected thing happens.  Johnny laughs.  Why is he laughing?  However, as quickly as the laughter begins, if slowly comes to a stop.  

"Clark, the only gripe I have with your relationship with my mother is the fighting," declares Johnny.

 _What?_ I say to myself.

"The fighting?" repeats Clark.  "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Clark, you and my mother have what I must say is the strongest bond I have ever seen between two people," explains Johnny.  "It's a bond that I have always hoped I'd have with someone some day.  And to answer your question...Clark when my parents would fight, especially in the last few years of Dad's life, there were loud arguments and words exchanged that I'd rather not repeat.  And then, instead of working out their problems, there came a time when they just stopped apologizing to each other and the dinner table eventually diminished to a cheerless lump of mahogany and I ended up being the only cheerful person at the table.  You and Mom, when you fight, it's so much worse.  You two are so good to each other.  You have always been the person that my mother could turn to when everyone and everything let her down and when you two fought...she sunk down into this 'woe-is-me' box where she completely immersed herself in the articles she was offered to write, Watchtower stuff, and _I_  didn't even have the one woman that _I_ could turn to when everything and everyone let me down.  And you would completely immerse yourself with Superman business and I was left without my godfather to talk to when I needed someone to turn to when both my parents slammed the door in my face. 

"You and my mother fighting is disgusting.  You and my mother being romantically involved...not that I don't love it, but who is my mother going to turn to when you two fight and end up not talking to each other for awhile?  She'll have no one.  And now you two are obviously in a rough patch and I have been slapped and--"

"Johnny," Clark stops him gently...and lovingly.  "Yes, I am _very_ upset with your mother right now and you have every reason to be upset with her as well.  But know this, Johnny:  I'll always be here for you and unless someone entombs me in a block of kryptonite, that's never  _ever_ going to change.  And you're wrong about one thing."

"What?"

"Your mother will have you," replies Clark sagely.  "Jonathan, you and your mother have a bond that I daresay is stronger than the bond I had with my mom and dad combined.  I've seen the two of you and you both build off of each other too well for you to be broken apart.  Even by something as severe as her laying a hand on  you.  That's why I'm going to leave the two of you alone now so that she can quit eavesdropping and get out of her 'woe-is-me box' as you call it and actually talk to you like a woman."

"What!" exclaims Johnny--and I--as one.  

I hear a gust of wind and I don't have to open the door to know that Clark has blurred away.  The door does open and I come face-to-face with my son.  He's wearing a bathrobe and looks like Clark took the stitches out of his hand so that it could heal on its own properly.  The scratches in his cheek seem to have already healed most of the way.

"Mom," he says coolly.  "I take it you were listening to all of that?"

I offer a confessional shrug.  "Can I please come in?"

Johnny steps aside and I walk into his room.  I sit on the edge of his queen-sized bed and stare at my son, even if his back is turned to me.

"Can you look me, please?" I ask tearfully.

He doesn't listen.  

"Aimee's father stopped by a short while ago," I begin conversationally.  "He's grateful that you saved his daughter's life.  He called you a hero and said I should be proud of you."

Johnny smirks.  

"You scared the hell out of me, but I swear, Jonathan, I am very proud of you," I declare firmly.  "I know you've felt like a failure all this time, but I _never_ saw you as a failure," my voice is breaking now.  "God, can you please look at me?"

"I'm sure God has his eyes on you, Mother," Johnny argues dryly.

I might admonish him for his snark, but I am too destroyed right now.  "I'm sorry I slapped you, Johnny.  I know I screwed up and broke my promise that I'd never hurt you, but please forgive me.  I'm not perfect, but I love you more than life itself.  If you don't want to be a superhero, that's fine.  If you ever thought for one minute that I would be disappointed in you for not wanting to continue the superhero route, you are are wrong.  I could never be disappointed in you for making your own choices.  Even if you don't take the superhero route, you _are_ a superhero."  Johnny lifts his head a little.  "Every day, you save me just by being my son.  You save your sister just by being her brother.  You save your friends just by being their friend.  Whether you wear a purple hood or not, you have always been a hero and we--me, your sister, Clark, Lois, Tess, your friends...Aimee--we love you for it."  Now I am sobbing again, silently begging my son to just turn around and look at me.

Eventually, he does and so much more.  Before I can react, Johnny buries me in a firm hug and I feel him jerk with sobs as I hug him back.  

"I love you, Mom," Johnny whispers into my shoulder.  "And I'm sorry I scared you so badly."

"I'm sorry too," I whisper back to him.  We just sit there for several long moments, wrapped in each other's arms.  Clark might be right.  Maybe there was more to me unloading on him than just the fear for my son's life.  Maybe some of that anger Johnny spoke of between Oliver and I, not resolving our problems the way we should have, left me with a lot of bottled up anger and the fear of my son's life just ended up being the hammer that smashed that bottle and Clark ended up bearing the brunt of all that anger that came tumbling out.

I seem to have fixed one mistake.  

Now I need to figure out how to fix the other one. 

  
 

  
 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Several weeks have passed by and I haven't spoken to Clark.  Everything I said to him keeps replaying in my mind over and over again and it hurts worse.  Yes I was scared for my son's life, but "parentless"?  "Spouseless"?  I should know better than to think that Clark doesn't just want me for my body.  Every day I look at the phone and I stare at Clark's name and my hand hovers over the call button.  A few times, Johnny intervened and pressed "call" for me.  If Clark answered, he would say something like,

"Hiya, Clark, listen there's this woman I know, she's as blonde as me, very beautiful, is an amazing journalist...you might know her.  She's having trouble figuring out how to talk to you, but maybe at some point the two of you pull your heads out of your asses and just talk to each other like reasonable people."

Then he would hang up, hand me back my phone, and walk off with a bright grin.  All the while, he would ignore my crossed arms and looks ranging from agitation to utter embarrassment.  

I've also looked at flights to Metropolis (I've stopped using the Queen jet and even removed my personal touches to it).  Money is definitely no problem--I could take my personal fortune and simply retire if I wanted to.  I am nowhere near ready to simply quit being a working woman altogether.  

It's May now and almost all of my dreams are dominated by Clark.  I dream of offering the sincerest of apologies.  I dream of skipping the apologies and tearing all of his clothes off and mapping his flesh with my lips.  I dream of him flying me to beautiful places in the world that only he knows...usually followed by getting tangled up in each other.  I dream of the two of us at the Kent Farm, maybe with a couple of raven-haired children.  Johnny would be visiting and Thea would be grown up, maybe as a high school student or just visiting from college.  I would just stare into the sunset in the loft of Clark's barn and Clark would be behind me with his arms wrapped around me.  

There's no reason why he would want to do that with me right now.  Plus, Clark sold the Kent farm--again--following his mother passing away.  And that yellow house is a little small.  Two bedrooms.  Either the house would have to be increased in size (although, I hate the idea of that house being modified for any reason, even if it's a farmhouse that most definitely has seen its fair share of modifications through each generation that has lived in it) or Clark and I would have to live somewhere else.  That's assuming we even get into a relationship.  

Sometimes I stop to consider how the reconciliation process might speed along if I was pregnant.  To some degree, I am a little sad that I am not pregnant.  I would love to bare Clark's child.  However, at the same time, I feel that if I was pregnant, I don't think it would have made things much easier.  Clark would most definitely support me, but I doubt that it would have completely healed things between us on an emotional level.  On that notion, I am also relieved that I am not pregnant.

Johnny convinced me to attend therapy.  I wasn't comfortable with attending a group therapy session, but I went to one-on-one meetings.  The therapist was nothing I expected.  A student working on her doctorate.  Not even thirty yet.  

So I spoke to her, I talked to her about being widowed in the last year and how it has affected me.  

She asked how I felt about my marriage.  That is a question that took a long time to answer.  Initially, it was wonderful.  I was married to a man that I had finally started a real, meaningful relationship with and we viewed our marriage as a happy mistake.  The therapist asked me to elaborate on that.  As embarrassed as I was to admit it, I told her that it was a marriage that came about during a drunken bachelor/bachelorette party in celebration of my best friend's upcoming marriage to my cousin.  The therapist asked what my relationship with Oliver was like before I married him.  I didn't go into detail about the things I did with the Suicide Squad and such, but I did tell that we we in a relationship "without strings", simply having fun without involving feelings.  

The therapist asked if maybe it was because I was afraid of having my heart ripped out of my chest and stomped on.  My heart was  _already_ ripped out and stomped on and the pieces were just scattered in the wind like the ashes of deceased loved one.  Again, I was asked to elaborate.  I had lost someone I loved and the person that I arguably cared about more than anyone in the world left me without anyone to help with my grief.  Did I hate him for it?  Absolutely.  I tried so hard to hate him for it, but upon his return (even if it was more of a silhouette of the man I knew and, let's be honest, loved) I found it harder and harder to hate him.  I still cared about him and interacted with him, not-so-subtly inviting him back into a friendship I craved, but he just kept slamming the door in my face again, and again...and again.

Why did I keep trying to let him back in?  I loved him.  I might have convinced myself at the time that I no longer loved him in that fashion, but old attractions die hard.  Very hard.  If that was the case, why did I form a relationship with another man?  A man who loved my cousin (Lois and I have  _really_ broken the girl code) and also happened to be someone who has struggled with alcoholism and has been a downright Casanova...a man that I neither grew up with nor really formed a bond with beyond that of a working relationship...and a fuck-and-go relationship.  The man my heart yearned for had fallen in love with my cousin and she him (or rather a persona of his).

How did I feel about my marriage as the years went by?  I rejoiced as I became a mother and, smugly, I really feel that I have done a great job of raising my son to be a good person.  I was given the great responsibility of being a parent and, even with all the tantrums and sleepless nights and disappointments...I wouldn't change a minute of it.  Except maybe the times that I should've been there for him mentally and emotionally but wasn't.  As for my relationship with my husband, for a long time I could say that I was in the clouds with a blissful marriage I felt that our relationship deepened.  Even if we spent the first few years doing things that we ought to have done prior to our unexpected marriage, like truly getting to know each other and figuring out how to live with each other, creating a delicate balance between what were vastly different personality sets.  I was a geek who, as I rediscovered my journalistic streak, had newspaper clippings everywhere and an elaborate computer setup for everything I did and reached out to potential heroes.  Oliver was a man who loved his toys that were generally meant for physical harm and his taste in furniture was over-the-top for my taste.

We worked out our differences and came to know each other on a very intimate level.  

However, as the years went by some things became very apparent.  Our anniversary was a day where we shared an awkward laugh.  When Johnny became old enough to start asking how we met and what being married was like, we had to lie for risk of embarrassment.  Oliver and I did have a real ceremony, but as I look back now, it did little to mask how we got married.  The marriage certificate which was torn in half.  Me waking up in a closet, thinking I was married to Clark.  Oliver waking up on train tracks with Lois.  Although, seeing him dressed as a drag queen is still a great memory.  

I wish it didn't have to be, but I would say that my powers resurfacing was the biggest catalyst that led to the downfall of my marriage.  I don't use the term powers, but I told the therapist that I suddenly rediscovered a skill of mine that Oliver didn't like.  Did he always dislike it?  I don't think it was something that he felt he needed to worry about, but I guess being married made it something difficult for him to handle.  Suddenly I could do this and, well now I wonder.  Was it jealousy?  I had powers and he didn't.  The older he got, the more I encouraged him to be careful out on the field.  It was definitely a poorly hidden secret that he resented the fact that he was growing older and I wasn't.  If Johnny was in the room, I think I would have had a difficult time convincing the therapist that he was in fact my son and not my little brother or cousin.  

I do nothing to convince people that I am a woman in her mid-forties.  Mostly due to Clark's unwavering support, I embrace the fact that I look like I am frozen at twenty-five years of age.  

Through our sessions as we got on to discussing my state following Oliver's death, I guess I do hold resentment towards him.  To be blatant, I  _hate_ him.  I hate the way I was married to him.  I hated the lack of a contented memory for my anniversary.  I hate that my powers had to be something that brought my marriage to an emotional end.  I hate the fact that the alternative to Oliver being dead would have been a divorce that no doubt would have been all over the tabloids, and probably exaggerating the divorce settlement.  I hate that my son and daughter don't have what might have viewed as a fairy tale wedding and marriage that they would strive for.  I hate having Queen attached to my last name.  Actually, I think that has always been true.  After all, I always introduced myself as Mrs. Sullivan-Queen.  

I hate the fact that, looking back now, I don't have a husband that I can brag about.  

When we got to talking about how I unloaded on my son and boyfriend, my guilt was rehashed.  I think I still resent Clark somewhat for taking so long to fall in love with me and a part of me was still skeptical of his feelings for me.  As for Johnny...I think maybe he reminds me too much of Oliver--even if he takes after me in both appearance and personality a lot more than he does Oliver--and, in the heat of the moment, Johnny became a surrogate for me to unload my anger towards Oliver in one vicious slap.  I deeply regret it still, even if Johnny and I have long since reconciled.  And I think it was well-deserved that my hand was sore for hours.

Several of my sessions with that therapist as I met her on a biweekly basis, I ended up screaming.  On the home front, one day, Johnny came home from Metropolis a century bob torso.  He borrowed it from Clark and Tess.  When I asked how Clark could possibly use it without breaking it or sending it flying through the wall, he told me that Clark wears a blue kryptonite bracelet while training with it.  Clark and Tess also use it as a stress-reliever and they called it Lexi.  That made me laugh and Johnny told me that, for my purposes, I could rename it.

I renamed it Ollie.  I have to say that using that punching torso has been a big help.  Almost as much as the therapy sessions, if not more so.  

Aside from all of that, I think I have settled on an apartment in Metropolis.  It's three bedrooms, two full bath apartment with a large kitchen, a living/dining room that is also large enough to accommodate a grand piano in a corner, and a balcony with a great view of downtown Metropolis.  A couple of weeks ago, I went to look at it with Johnny (who was amazingly supportive of my decision to move out of the Queen mansion as he didn't feel happy there anymore either) and he loved it.  He didn't know where he was going to go to college yet, even if he has been getting acceptance letters from places like Stanford, MetU, F.I.T. in New York, and even a couple Ivy Leagues such as Yale and Princeton.  

I get the feeling that he might be leaning towards the Fashion Institute of Technology or Princeton.  I have made it very clear to him that he doesn't have to enroll in MetU, but he hasn't taken that college off the table either.   

Now I needed to figure out what I am going to go once I get to Metropolis.  I am sitting here now looking over a few things on my tablet--mostly job opportunities from the Daily Planet and I am getting nowhere. 

"Hey, Mom."

I am so absorbed in my thoughts that the sound of Johnny's voice scares me.  He offers me an apologetic look.  "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry," he says.  He looks down at my tablet.  "How's job-hunting going?"

My only answer is a moan.

"Have you filled out an application for the Daily Planet?" asks Johnny, sitting down on the leather couch across from me.  Thea waddles across the carpet to him and Johnny picks her up, settling her on his lap. 

I sigh.  "No, I have not," I confess.

"What's the hold up?" 

I shrug.  "I-I..."

Johnny rolls his eyes.  "Are you afraid of working in the same place as Clark?  Mom, I know you two haven't talked to each other lately, but for heaven's sake, don't let it stop you from working for the newspaper you've wanted to work for since you were my age."

"But I can't just ambush him like this!" I protest.

Johnny sighs.  "One step forward, two steps back...Lois was right."

I cock my head and Johnny fixes his green eyes on me.  "You're always coming up with reasons not to grab what is basically yours for the taking," he explains.  "All you have to do is talk to Clark.  You know as well as I do how forgiving he is, so why can't you just run to Metropolis and claim your man?"

"Johnny, you didn't hear the things I said to him," I say quietly.  "I really hurt Clark and I don't know if I am worthy of his forgiveness."

Johnny smirks.  "Well, you're going to have to figure it out because you have an interview with the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet."

"What!" I exclaim.  How could Johnny ambush me like this?

"Yep, your flight leaves in two hours and if it's consolation, Richard White is  _very_ excited to see you," continues Johnny with a wink.  "Now I think we can agree that it would be much less awkward if you pack your own clothes and not make me do the packing for you."

"Yes," I hiss.  "That would be  _very_ awkward."  

Johnny just smiles brightly to the point that he knows I can't stay annoyed with him.

"Let's get going, shall we?" he encourages.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

This has to be the last place where I expected to find myself stuck in a small box down memory lane.  Or more like a large office at the top of the Daily Planet.  Nearly twenty-five years ago, I was in this office and just like then, I am putting on my most polite smile, but underneath, my insides feel something like a roller coaster.  There's a tingle in my fingers and every minute I am suppressing an impulse to let out some sort of outburst of excitement or fear.  The entire trip up the elevator, when no one was looking, I was fidgeting with my blazer and blouse underneath.  I think maybe I displayed a little too much chest for what might be considered appropriate for a respectable interview.  The first time I was here, after high school when I was just a freshman at MetU, I think maybe I could have at least had one or two more buttons buttoned. 

Richard White, the handsome nephew of the late Perry White, thoughtfully sifts through my resume and some of my articles as I sit across from him trying to hide my nervousness.

The deja vu is killing me.

Why?

The first time I was here, all I had was a Smallville High service plaque and a more or less bad image left by Lionel Luthor getting me fired from the Daily Planet.  Now I am here once more and I have three Pulitzers and both the Daily Planet and the Star City Register on my resume.  Hell, I have written a few articles for the Planet all these years when they offered me a spot on the next day's newspaper.  

I still can't believe my son would call the Daily Planet behind my back tell them that I would like to go in for an interview.  Of course, he knew I wanted to work for the Daily Planet, but he could have given me a little warning.  He could have left the calling them and filling out an application for me to worry about.  Johnny gently reminded me that if he did that, I would have ended up finding a reason (albeit a very stupid one) not to work for the Planet and then, in the long run, I would have regretted doing so and I would "mope around the house like a sad puppy who didn't get her favorite treat," as he put it.  He's probably right.  Still, I gave him quite an earful for going behind my back.  What if the Daily Planet didn't want to see me?  What if Clark had answered the phone?  What if I was intending to work somewhere else and I had a meeting at the same--or at least a similar--time?  

Maybe I was just annoyed that the push I needed came from my son.  So I got onto the plane with him and his sister and now here I am at the Daily Planet.  I will admit that Richard White seemed excited to see me when I stepped into his office.  He told me that he was glad that I could make it and I couldn't help but tell him that I was glad that I could be here.

Now he's just glancing at some of my articles with that same thoughtful expression of his.  Finally he sets everything down and glances up at me and I straighten up in my seat.

"Why were you fired from the Daily Planet all those years ago?" he asks, not unkindly.

How do I answer that?  I can't just tell him that it was mostly because I was entrusted to some Veritas key by Lionel Luthor and Lex Luthor did not like that.  I wouldn't tell him what I did with it and he unceremoniously fired me...or rather he simply tossed me out the door without giving me a minute to gather my personal belongings. 

"Lex Luthor and I had a disagreement," I finally reply.  An honest answer, but also one that doesn't reveal much.  

"So why return--officially--after all these years?" asks Richard White.  "Surely once the Daily Planet was under new management that you would have wanted to return to work here."

"My husband lived in Star City," I reply simply.  

"Hmm," Richard White huffs.  "How soon can you start working here?"

Butterflies dance in my chest, but I try to keep calm.  "Excuse me?"

"You've got the job; personally I feel that this interview was a waste of time," explains Richard with a smile.  "So how soon can you start working here?"

I shake my head.  "I...I can start working here by this time next month."

Richard stands up and comes around.  "I look forward to it, Ms. Sullivan."  He offers his hand and I have to fight from shaking it too long or too hard.  

"Thank you so much for this opportunity," I say, a lot faster than I meant to. 

Richard smiles.  "Don't thank me; thank the guy I spoke to over the phone."

I guess I really do owe Johnny a huge thank you.  Richard shows me out the door of his office with one last goodbye and I can't hold it back anymore.  Giggles rumble out of my body as my hands shake.  I don't even care that Mr. White's secretary is looking at me like I am some silly schoolgirl.  I sure feel as giddy as one.  

Now I want to see if a certain hottie is in his office.  I still can't believe that I have never been to his office.  But at the same time, I know right where it is.  I navigate through the people going every which way until I find the office with Clark's name on it.  

"Do you have an appointment, Miss?" asks a pencil-thin young lady with her strawberry blonde hair piled on top of her head sitting at a desk outside Clark's office.  

Oh, wow.  If somebody had told me nearly thirty years ago that  _Clark_ would be the one with an office at the Daily Planet and needing an appointment just to see him I would have scoffed.  "Um, no..." I reply stupidly.  I read the name on the name plaque on her desk.  Valerie.

Now that Valerie has a better view of me, her eyes widen to the point that I worry they'll pop out of her skull.  "You're Chloe Sullivan-Queen!" 

"It's just Chloe Sullivan, please," I correct her patiently.  "Is Clark here?"

Valerie shakes her head wildly.  "No, but I'm sure he won't mind you waiting for him."  She gets up and opens the door for me.  I step inside and let her close it behind me.  

Clark's office reminds me a bit of the loft at the Kent Farm.  There's books everywhere and not all of them having to do with journalism, a large fancy desk with a couple of computer screens on it, as well as a printer, a pencil holder and a few photographs.  Curious, I stride over to the desk and pick up one of the framed photos and a smile spreads across my lips.

It's a photo of the two of us from a day at Crater Lake the summer after high school.  Our heads pressed together, both with big silly, happy grins and one of my arms is wrapped around his neck while the other was holding my camera.  I could always get Clark to take a picture with me, way more than Lana ever could.  I carefully set the photo down and pick up another one.  It's a similar photo, only his head is pressed together with Jonathan and Martha Kent.  I miss those two people so much.  Another photo of my son at sixteen, a photo of Clark, Johnny and I; even a photo of me holding Thea as a newborn.  There's also photos of Lois and Tess.  Clark has really made himself quite a surrogate family out of me, my children, even Tess and Lois.  

A few more things in the office, the bookshelves, a really nice coffeemaker.  I'm sure he won't mind me indulging myself a little.  I walk over to the coffeemaker and heat up the coffee a bit.  I look in the small cupboard below it.  There's a few coffee mugs.  I select a mug with "I heart DP" on it with a big red heart on it.  Just as I close the cupboard back up, I feel a breeze and hear a scream.  The scream makes me jump and I lose my grip on the coffee mug.  Clark blurs over and catches it before it hits the ground.  

Now that I have a view of him, I see that he's wearing his Superman suit.  I raise my eyebrows and just as quickly, Clark blurs behind a door that I assume leads to a closet and comes back out a second later in a blue shirt and black pants.  

"I bet you're glad that it was me who was in your office," I offer.  

"Totally," replies Clark gruffly, pouring himself a cup of coffee.  I then watch him as he goes to sit down in his large leather chair behind his desk with a groan.  "What a day.  I was just off the coast of Norway keeping a warship from sinking while all of the crew safely got off it.  Then I dragged it to a dry dock.  I sure hope they can fix it up."  He looks up at me.  "I might be Superman, but I'm still grateful for any day or week that I don't have to take care of something big like that."

I offer him a quizzical look.  "Is the Man of Steel growing lazy?"

To my surprise, Clark doesn't get flustered or even start stammering.  "No, but I sure could use a long vacation."

We share an understanding look, but soon Clark asks, "Not to be rude, but why are you here?"

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I ask, "Can I sit?"

Clark gestures to one of the chairs in front of him.  I sink down into the chair, my eyes never leaving Clark's.  "I...um, I just had a job interview."

At that, Clark chokes on a sip of his coffee.  When he stops coughing, his eyes are wide.  "Are you saying...?"

I smile warmly.  "By this time next month, after Johnny graduates, I'll be working here."

Clark studies me for what feels like several minutes before he gets up and stares out the window, turning his back to me.  "Is this some sort of ploy to fix what went down between us?" he asks eventually.

I glare into his back as I set the coffee mug down on his desk.  "No, I simply want to work here.  But I do want to apologize for unloading on you the way I did a couple of months ago.  I shouldn't have done that and I understand that you didn't want to speak to me and I--"

Clark whips around and takes his glasses off.  Oh, I am really in trouble.  Whenever Clark takes off his glasses during a conversation, it's never a very good sign.  "You think I am upset with you because you unloaded on me?"  

That question catches me off-guard.  I shrug helplessly.

Clark shakes his head.  "Chloe, yes, I am upset about the things you said to me.  I would have thought you knew me better than to think that I only wanted you for your body.  Throwing my lack of living parents into it was very hurtful and, yes, I have been a bit unsuccessful marriage-wise, but that's not all why I am upset with you."  He comes around and sits in the chair beside me.  "Chloe, the way you looked at me when you said all those things...I think you knew I was the one you were talking to, and I know you were upset because I hadn't gone into school to save Johnny, but I don't think that  _I_ was the one you were angry with."

I cock my head at him, but soon I let out a sigh as I stare into my lap.  "You're right, Clark," I confirm softly.  "I've been seeing a shrink and I was angry at Oliver.  And I was angry at myself."

Clark urges me to continue.  

"Clark, while you have had bad luck with getting married, I simply have had bad luck with love.  I married two men in my life.  The first one, Jimmy, I started a relationship with because I enjoyed the fact that there was some guy who actually adored me and because I convinced myself that I would never have you.  Then, after getting together and breaking up again so many times, I married him and I hardly remember it.  Then I ruined my own marriage because of Davis Bloome.  Then there was Oliver and eventually, after not really being in a meaningful relationship, I woke up married to him and I accepted it even though we were only truly in a relationship for a few weeks.  Then, after he died, I finally had you.

"I don't regret us being in relationship, Clark.  I'm just so angry with myself.  Growing up, I would never have settled for a marriage that came about during a drunken night of mayhem.  As much as I dreamed of being in a relationship with you, I would have done things a lot slower.  Clark Kent, I love you with all my heart, but I think that really, without realizing it I was angry with myself.  I had you and I was so excited about it and we rushed into things.  For that, I am sorry."

Clark studies me for several long minutes.  Finally a smile spreads across his lips.  "I'm sorry too."

I give him a questioning look.  

"I was excited about being in a relationship with you as well, and yes, it seems that we spent more time making love than actually bonding on a deeper level."

I laugh.  "We're a real piece of work, aren't we?" 

Clark's laughing too.  "We are, we are."  Eventually, though, his face turns more serious again.  "Chloe, how come you never told me that Oliver assaulted you?"

My face falls serious too.  I knew that that question would turn up eventually.  I stand up and go to stand by the window overlooking the square.  "I tried to."

"You tried to?" repeats Clark.  "Why do you say you 'tried to'?"

I close my eyes at the memory.  Oliver had slapped me and I told him that I was going to bed.  But before I did, I looked for a phone and called Clark, just because I needed someone to talk to.  

"I called you Clark and it was the same time that you were given your promotion here at the Daily Planet," I explain, still looking out the window as tears bead in my eyes.  "I was so proud of you, but as upset as I was, I didn't want to put a damper on your happy day by bothering you with my troubles."

In the slight reflection in the glass, I see Clark has come to stand behind me.  He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently spins me around to face him.  I stare up into his baby blues tearfully.  

"You really think I'm that selfish?" he whispers incredulously.  "You really think that I wouldn't have abandoned my own party if it meant giving you a shoulder to cry on?  Or was it that you were trying to ignore that it happened?  That it was easier to just forget about it instead of facing the issue?"

I smile up at him as tears roll down my cheeks.  "You know me better than anyone, Clark Kent."

Clark smiles and wraps his arms around me as tears continue to roll down my cheeks.  We stay like that for several minutes.

"You think we can give our relationship another try?" I ask into his chest hopefully.  "Take things a bit slower?"

"I can get on board with that," answers Clark.  I can hear the smile in his voice.  Eventually he breaks away from me and gazes down into my eyes.  He studies me for a minute.  "I also look forward to us working together."

I grin up at him.  "I do too."  I check my watch.  "Oh, I really have to get back to the hotel; Johnny will be worried."  I make my way towards the door, but Clark stops me.

"Chloe," he begins. 

I turn back towards him slightly. 

"Um, do you have any dinner plans?" he asks hopefully.

I swallow hard.  "Not at the moment," I reply with a nervous smile.  

Clark clears his throat.  "Would you like to meet me for dinner?"  

I smile warmly.  "I'd love to, Clark.  I'm gonna go now before my good karma runs out."  I leave the room and as I walk down the hall towards the elevator, I can swear I feel Clark's gaze on me through the walls.  Hoping that he's watching me, I continue to smile in the direction of his office as the elevator descends.  

Maybe there's some hope for me after all. 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

"Mom, will you just relax?" pleads Johnny.  

"Relax?" I repeat, still standing in front of the bathroom mirror.  I asked Johnny to come in to tell me how I looked and _I_ end up being the nervous wreck as I primp myself where I don't need primping.  "Tell me to relax one more time and I swear I'll-I'll--"

"Stammer at me like a freakishly tall farmboy-turned-reporter with a perpetually boyish demeanor?" my son asks, inching away towards the door in mock-fright.  "Mom, it's a date; it's not like we're going to the White House again to visit President Ross."  He comes behind me and puts his arms around me from behind lovingly.  "Besides, you went on a date with him when he took you to the opera last winter, so what's the matter?"

I sigh as I grasp my son's arms in my hands.  "Honey, that was not a  _date_ -date," I remind him patiently.  "I just didn't want those expensive tickets to go to waste."

"What about all the other times that you and Clark dated over the last few months?" asks Johnny.

I don't answer him immediately.  Over the last few weeks as I have reevaluated the status of my relationship with Clark, it just feels like that we haven't really become  _romantically_ involved.  At least not properly.  He's my best friend whom I have always loved dearly on some level and even after I unexpectedly married Oliver and became a mother, as Clark and I finally got our friendship back where it should have been, we had dinner together at least once a week with or without formal wear.  I never knew nor cared if Oliver was jealous of that or not, but he couldn't get me to reestablish how I spent time with my best friend on his terms if he tried.  

After the holidays, I think Clark and I convinced ourselves that we were in a serious, romantic relationship, but now I am feeling that we were just two best friends who added sex to the list of things we did together.  

So all in all, even if I know everything there is to know about Clark--at least I think I do--this evening feels like a first  _real_ date.  And I have cold feet.  

"Sweetie, Clark told me that he wanted to take me someplace special and he never actually did that on one of our dates before," I respond.

In the mirror, I see a smile spread across my son's face.  I know that smile.  "Jonathan, do you know something that I don't?"

Still smiling, Johnny replies, "Yes, but that doesn't mean I am going to tell you anything."

I appreciate the honesty, but, "Oh, come on, Johnny!" I plead.  "All Clark would tell me was to wear something that I don't mind getting wet in." I gesture down to myself.  I settled on wearing a loose-fitting white blouse and waist skirt over a blue two-piece swimsuit.  I decided to wear my hair straight, but I did put in a half-up do.  I also chose a long set of earrings.  At least I can feel good about the swimsuit.  Being involved with Clark has made me less self-conscious about my body.  Even Oliver couldn't get me to trade my chaste one-pieces for two-piece swimsuits.  It also helps a lot that Johnny isn't embarrassed about seeing me wearing things that aren't altogether modest.  Maybe it helps that he grew up seeing Lois wear her flimsy swimsuits.  

"I'm not telling you anything," Johnny declares slowly.

"If you don't tell me, you're grounded," I threaten, although I think I came off more flat than I intended.  

Johnny removes his arms from me and covers his mouth in horror.  "I am terrified, really," he breathes.  Soon, though, he rolls his eyes.  "Trust me, Mom, once Clark takes you to where I have no doubt he is going to take you, you'll be glad that I didn't say anything."

I turn around and glare at my son.  "So, not only do you know where Clark is taking me, you have also _been_ there?"  Johnny just shrugs with his big arms crossed.  He's not as tall as Clark or his father was, but he's still quite an imposing figure.  And, yes, quite handsome on top of it.  

Just then, I hear a knock on the door to our hotel suite.  A grin spreads across Johnny's face and I nervously tuck some of my bangs behind my ear as we head out of the bathroom and to the door.  I reach out for the door, but just as my hand reaches it, I back away.  I can't do this.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" exclaims Johnny.  Before I can stop him, he comes in front of me and flings the door open.  "Hiya, Clark!  I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, but there's this woman I know.  I care about her a lot.  I love her a lot.  And she is ten seconds away from chickening out on this date that she agreed to, so maybe use your Kryptonian powers on her and calm her nerves."  

Still standing behind my son, I watch slightly amused as Clark just stands there assessing my son's words.  "I don't have any powers."

"What!" exclaims Johnny and I.  

"You have no powers?" repeats Johnny.  "So you can't fly, run faster than a bullet, shoot fire from your eyes, huff, puff and blow a house down, lift an Antonov plane over your head, see through just about everything other than lead--"

"That's not what I meant!" Clark interrupts, his face flushed.

"Sounded an awful lot like it," argues Johnny, crossing his arms.  Oh, darling, give the poor alien a break.

"What I meant is that I don't have powers to calm your mother's nerves!" shouts Clark.

"Shh, Clark, you don't want to disturb other people," shushes Johnny soothingly.  "And yes, you do have the power to calm my mother."

"What?" asks Clark--and I--as one.  

Johnny turns slightly and regards us both in turn.  "You're Clark; you can calm my mother down whatever mood she's in."

"I failed miserably while she was pregnant with your sister," grumbles Clark.  It elicits a laugh from Johnny, but gets a scowl out of me.  

"Oh, well I'll let you silly people get to it," says Johnny.  "Oh, and Clark..." he begins as he walks past me, "you break my mother's heart and I'll throw you in a vat of molten kryptonite."  He completes his threat with a beautiful smile and walks off, whistling merrily.  

Clark looks at me.  "Your son is psychotic."

"Yep, and I love it!" confirms Johnny sweetly from the living room.  I just roll my eyes.  

"You look great," says Clark, bringing my attention back to him.  

"Yeah?" I ask with a shy smile.  "You cleaned up nicely yourself," I return, gesturing to his loose blue shirt, black shorts and sandals.

"Are you ready to go?" asks Clark.  

I shrug.  "As I'll ever be."

Clark takes me in his arms and soon as I bury my face in his chest, I feel the world whizzing by as he launches into superspeed.  I love this feeling.  The rush of wind, the sound of Clark's heart hammering in my ear, the controlled rise and fall of his chest even as he travels way faster than humanly possible...I still wish that Clark could have revealed his secrets to me sooner in our shared life.  I should have known during our senior year that Clark wouldn't pick up on my not-so-subtle hints that I knew his secret.  I still wonder if it was from his innate desire to be normal that he never saw my hints for what they were or if it was just the fact that he is horrible at picking up silent--or not-so-silent messages.  Twice growing up I gave him an out when really I wanted him and both times he took me literally.  I wanted to be in relationship with him after Spring Formal even though he ditched me.  I wanted to be in a relationship if he came back from the Phantom Zone the first time around.  Both times, I put up my defense mechanisms and both times Clark failed to look past them.  Although, the second time, it seems that Clark was the one left heartbroken instead of me.  

Clark Kent is worse at picking up nonverbal cues and silent messages than a person with Aspergers syndrome.  

Eventually, Clark slows down to a stop.  He probably would have come to an abrupt stop the way he usually does, but he's very good about  _slowing_ to a stop when someone like me is going along for the ride.  I open my eyes as Clark sets me down on my feet and a gasp escapes my throat.  In every direction I see tree-covered hills gently or steeply rising to the point that some of them are shrouded by mist towards the peaks.  None are snow-capped and the air feels humid so we are definitely not in the western U.S., but still the hills rising and falling in every direction, creating a crisscrossing look from where I stand is breathtaking.  At the bottom of the hill where I stand, a wide, but calm river fills my ears with its rushing water which, as my eyes follow it downriver, disappears into a cliff, creating a soft waterfall.  The cliff is too deep from me to see where it leads to from where I am standing.  I am facing west and I can only imagine how the sunset looks upon the river.  

Where I am standing is a flatter area where a gentle wind caresses my skin like a lover's touch.  Several paces to my left, towards the north it looks like based on where the sun is, is modest cabin.  The cabin has a wraparound porch with stone steps leading up to it and there is a window towards the top of the cabin itself, leading me to believe that the cabin has a small loft.  It almost looks like something plucked from a fantasy with its stone chimney and less-than-modern look to it from the outside.  

Clark comes into my view and all I can do is stare at him.  There are no words for me to describe the beauty of this place.  

"Welcome to my Fortress of Solitude," announces Clark softly.

I give him a questioning look.

"Okay, my _unofficial_ Fortress of Solitude," Clark corrects himself.  My eyes are still questioning.  "You have any idea how many unwanted visitors I have had to that ice castle?  Not including yourself?"  Clark gestures to the area around him with a proud...and content look upon his face.  "You are literally the fourth person who has ever been here, after Lois and Johnny and then Tess.  This whole place--a ten-mile radius from where we stand--is a strict off-limits, no-fly zone, thanks to a favor from Bruce Wayne and not even he has had the privilege of visiting here."

"It's beautiful, Clark," I breathe, worried that I might actually faint.  A thought pops up into my head.  "If you don't mind me asking, is this where you spent your time when you disappeared after your mom died?"

Clark nods softly.

"How is it that this place was never found when I was trying to hunt you down?"

In response, Clark blurs away and comes back with--something--in his hand.  I take it in my hands delicately.  "It looks like one of the ice crystals from the Arctic."

"It's a Kryptonian signal jammer," explains Clark.  "Thanks to that crystal, this whole place looks like an untouched piece of nowhere on a satellite and I can even have wifi if I want without it being traced back to here."  

All I can do is smile.  

"Now if you want to get technical, we are in Appalachian West Virginia," offers Clark.  "So, you don't need to fuss about not having a passport."  

I cock my head and he just smiles.  

"W-would you like to come inside?" he invites, offering his hand.

I smile warmly as I take his hand.  "I thought you'd never ask." Clark leads me towards the cabin.  As we walk towards it, I see an outhouse not far from the cabin.  I hope that there is at least a shower and maybe a washer in the cabin.  

We reach the porch and I smile at some of the furniture.  A few lounge chairs with some pillows and hand-carved side tables by each of them.  Clark opens the door for me and I step inside.  I take a moment to look at the place.  Most of the cabin is one room.  On one side is a stone column with the fireplace in it, a big wall-mounted TV set hanging not far above it (though I doubt Clark uses it much) with a shelf of books underneath it.  In front of the fireplace is a semi-circle of plush red couches not unlike the couch in the loft at the Kent Farm, although these ones look even softer, with a coffee table in the middle.  On the other side of the cabin is what looks like a well-stocked kitchen complete with a refrigerator, a gas stove, plenty of counter space, a few cabinets and a round table with four wooden chairs around it.  Also on that side is a closed off space where I am sure there is a bathroom--hopefully with at least a washer in it as well.  I think I saw a clothesline outside.  In the middle of the place is a spiral staircase which leads to the loft wherein I assume is Clark's bed.  The last thing I notice, on the living room side on the far end, is the most astounding. 

An easel with a number of unused canvases and a shelf with a neat assortment of oil paints, paintbrushes, and other painting supplies including a pair of coveralls.  Now that I take more time to notice, there are a few paintings situated all around the cabin.  Each of them amazingly beautiful and one of them catches my attention.  Slowly, I walk towards in and just stare.

It's the Kent house.  It's the Kent house with the barn in off to the side and both are somewhat silhouetted by a sunset illuminating the fields of Clark's home.  Also there's small and very good figures of Clark, Martha...Jonathan Kent...and even Shelby.  I miss that dog.  If I'll be honest, the place was where I always felt most at home even though I never actually lived there.  Even at times when my friendship with Clark was at its lowest points.   

I feel Clark come to stand not far behind me.  I turn to him.  I can tell he knows the question that is at the tip of my tongue.

"I've been painting for the last ten years," he explains.  "Johnny once told me that if I didn't find a hobby away from Superman and away from the Daily Planet--even away from farm work--that I would be killed by the 'Witch of Workaholism'."  Oh, my son and his imaginary villains for when the adults in his life succumb to work.  With me it was the Evil Laptop Monster.  With Oliver, the Evil Businessman Bad Guy.  With Clark...the Witch of Workaholism.  

"How come you never told me?" I ask, with a bit of a pout.  

Clark shrugs.  "Johnny keeps diaries; I paint.  Plus, my painting skills at first were awful and I wanted to be able to develop them without you--or anybody--making fun of my lousy first efforts."

I want to say that I wouldn't have made fun of him, but as I think about it, I think I would have made fun of him.  

"I thought I saw paint underneath your fingernails over the last few years," I marvel.  I take another look at all the paintings and I see a paintings of my son, Tess, Lois, Martha Kent, even me.  "Clark, do you do portraits?" I ask.

Clark nods.  

I smile.  "Could you do a portrait of me?"

The smile that spreads across Clark's face has to be one of the biggest smiles I have seen on his face since before Jonathan Kent passed away.  "I'd love to, Chloe."

 


	20. Chapter Twenty

Posing for a photograph is easy.  Just smile or make a goofy face and with a flash it's over.  One of my favorite photo portraits of my family is one where Johnny, Oliver, and I are lying down head to head in a circle.  

Posing for a painting is a whole different story.  I'm still wearing my clothes, but I can understand Rose's struggle from  _Titanic_ as Jack drew a portrait of her.  There's one movie that Clark, Lois, and I can spend hours discussing the reasons why we hate it.  Even if it makes each of us cry every time we are forced to watch it.  I am still wearing my swimwear and shirt and skirt over it and I'm not sprawled on one of those plush couches.  Rather I am simply gazing out one of the windows with one of my hands gently pressed against the glass.  

I am not smiling, but I try to maintain an air of contentment.  I am content, even if I am fighting to keep any amusing thoughts out of my head, lest I lose my composure and begin laughing.  Staring out into the vast, green expanse, I can't think of anything amusing.  The Fortress of Solitude in the Arctic is undoubtedly a spectacular sight with its crisscrossing pillars of ice and crystal that somethings make me think of a bunch of incredibly large poles holding each other up by their own weight, but this place, this retreat of Clark's is very different.  

While not as majestic as the Rockies to the west with their high-rising peaks sometimes covered in trails of snow, these mountains in Appalachia are a beauty in their own right.  Smallville and Metropolis are two places where I spent most of my early life, but they are in a very flat place.  Lots of fields, lots of corn, forests, and is generally flat unless you go to the right places.  Here, in the eastern Midwest in West Virginia and Ohio, you have a little bit of almost everything without having to travel too far.  

As Clark takes his time painting a portrait of me--I still think it's weird both that he paints and the fact that he's not using superspeed--I just drink in the sight.  The window I am staring out of is located towards the west giving me a breathtaking view of the late afternoon sun.  Even through this window, I can hear the faint roar of the river at the bottom of the hill.  It's not a particularly violent river, but I do see a few rapids where the current is interrupted by some rocks and, of course, where the river disappears into a waterfall.  Clark told me to wear something that I don't mind getting wet in, so I assume that at some point he will want to take me down to the water.  I see rustles in the grass as it is touched by the wind, giving this whole place a sense of ceaseless movement.  Even the trees offer a bit of rustle and I'm sure that if I were standing in the right places, I would hear their whispers as the wind constantly breathed its tuneless song.  

Now I'm feeling poetic and I generally hate the outdoors.  I'm a city girl who feels safe hearing the sounds of cars whizzing to and fro and the bustle of people shopping and going to and from work.  I love being where there is civilization, but somehow, Clark has always been somebody who could get me to indulge in the beauties that lie beyond what cities and nearby towns had to offer.  Clark's birth parents could have sent him anywhere in the universe, yet they sent him to Earth.  A relatively small, green, watery planet with ever-decreasing natural resources, but still had plenty of natural beauty for those who sought it.  

I wish I could send them a heartfelt thank you card or something to that effect for sending Clark to Earth.  To me.  Careful, so as not to break my pose, my head inches to the left a little to get a slight view of Clark.  His hand is in a dance of movement as he applies paints to the canvas.  I see his fingers and there's paint under his nails.  I suddenly feel that it's oddly attractive.  Almost as attractive as watching him do farm work.  Memories of times that I have seen him doing chores at the Kent Farm, with or without a shirt on fill my mind and I remember plenty of times dreaming about just touching him as he worked for no particular reason. 

Why did I have to wait nearly thirty years just to touch Clark the way I have always wanted to touch him?  How many of those years did Clark long to touch me?  Either Clark has learned to hide his affection really well, or more cynically, his ardor for me popped out of the blue when I suddenly became a widow and, without Lois Lane or Lana Lang available, he turned to me for affection.  No, it has to be the former.  Clark and I might have been more fuck-buddies than an actual couple in the last few months, but in the brief moments where we took a break from sex and actually acted like a real couple, Clark has shown me that he genuinely loves me.  It also helps that he took his role as godfather to my children seriously and, at some points, he was more father to my children than Oliver was.  

"You can move now," says Clark eventually.  I break my pose and stare at Clark as he begins cleaning off his brushes with paint thinners.  I walk around so that I can view the painting.  When I see it, all I can do is stare.  For a minute I wonder if maybe Clark watched reruns of Bob Ross and suddenly decided he wanted to learn to paint, but this is just gorgeous.  I remember that guy I liked briefly, I can't remember his name, but he lost most of the use of his hands, but given his meteor power, he used telekinesis to use colored pencils and he drew a breathtaking picture of my face.  This...this painting makes that picture look like the work of an amateur.  Clark captured me well from the shape of my body, to the freckles on my face, to the peaceful contentment etched across my face.  

"Um, what do you think?" asks Clark, shyly. 

I turn to face him.  "It's beautiful, Clark."  I give him a thoughtful look.  "I guess there are still some things that I don't know about you."  

Clark shrugs as he gets out of his coveralls.  "I'm a lost cause for musical instruments and I could already build things, but I still wanted to find something that I could learn.  Painting just became something that I wanted to work towards."

"What did Lois think?" I ask.  

Clark's face falls and I regret asking, but he doesn't seem to notice.  "She knew that I worked well with my hands, but she felt that I lacked the creativity to paint."  I walk over and lay a comforting hand on Clark's arm.  I have to admit that if Clark told me ten years ago that he wanted to learn to paint, I would have been skeptical about his chances, but still I would have been supportive.  Lois didn't have to shoot down his hopes.  Now I just need to beg her forgiveness for thinking her a bitch. 

"Also, if it'll put your mind at ease, Lois never came to this place until that time when she and Johnny went to the Arctic looking for me after my mother died--after she and I broke up," says Clark.

I try not to show it, but Clark knows me enough to know when I relax just a little more.  It sure makes being here feel less awkward.  Otherwise, I might have trouble not thinking about Clark and Lois...playing in just about every spot of this cabin.  

"Um, so what do you want to do now?" asks Clark as he finishes up with the paintbrushes.  

"Ask me a personal question," I request before I can stop myself.  

Clark gapes at me, but smiles and goes to sit on one of the couches.  I follow suit and sit down on the couch across from him.  I almost yelp at how far I sink down.  These couches really are soft.  I study him.  He seems to be putting a lot of thought into what he wants to ask me.  It looks as if there are a multitude of things that he'd like to ask me, but is also trying to figure which one to ask me first.  

"How...how do you feel about your relationship with Oliver?" asks Clark finally.  "I know you don't regret being a mother--I've seen the way you look at your children--but how do you feel about your relationship with the man who fathered them?"

Oh, boy, way to go with that question, Clark.  This almost feels like one of my therapy sessions all over again.  Almost, but not quite the same.  This time I am discussing it with the man who has been my friend longer than anybody I know.  

I sigh as I stare down into my lap.  "I hate it," I confess after what feels like several minutes.  Or at least long enough for Clark to offer me a glass of ice water with lemon.  "I hate how it started.  I hate that I let myself be a person that a man who was generally a coworker screw on the side.  I hate that I let my loneliness keep me from wanting a more meaningful relationship.  Even if it turned out to be for a good reason, I hate that I abandoned you and everyone else that I cared about.  I hate that I didn't make Oliver go through with a proper wedding until you intervened.  I hate that I had to lie to my son about how his parents came together to spare my embarrassment and his disappointment.  I hate that I didn't grab a few things and jump on a plane with Johnny in tow to Metropolis after Oliver slapped me.  And I hate that I know that someday I'll have to explain to my daughter why her mommy and daddy were planning on getting a divorce before her daddy died."  I run through the list, but no tears gather in my eyes, no anger boils to the surface, my voice doesn't even go beyond that of a conversational tone...there's only flat-out resignation.  

"And then I get so excited about being in a relationship with you that I find myself doing the same thing all over again even if I have loved you almost from the day that I met you."  I close my eyes and my voice becomes more solemn.  "I'm sorry, Clark.  I'm sorry that we spent more time making love than actually deepening our connection.  I'm sorry that I wasn't more aggressive in showing how much you meant to me growing up; I should have understood that at the time you wouldn't have seen how much you meant to me if I had read my letter to you while you were conscious."

Clark just stares at me for several minutes, blinking slowly.  Eventually he gets up and I watch as he comes to sit beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.  "You don't need to be sorry, Chlo," he promises.  "You have no reason to believe me, but even before I read your letter, I knew on some level that I meant more to you than just as friends.  I was too distracted by my crush for Lana Lang that I never opened my eyes to see what being with you could be like.  I should have torn down your defense mechanisms and swept you off your feet and be the man the you deserved."

I stare up at Clark.  "Now let me ask you a personal question."

Clark raises his eyebrows expectantly.  

"When you finally did get your chance with Lana--each time--did the reality live up to the fantasy?"  

Clark smiles nostalgically.  "Maybe at first, but I think that that reality slowly unraveled to the point that I began to see Lana for what she was."

"And that is...?" savagely, I tense up as I eagerly await the answer.

"A bitch," replies Clark simply with a shake of his head. 

Despite myself, I laugh.  

"A bitch who never wanted for anything, yet whined about things like being misunderstood and eventually went from being a sweet, caring individual to a resentful human being who only lusted for power to the point that she put on a kryptonite-absorbing suit without really thinking about the consequences," Clark continues.  "Even you would have just destroyed it along with the research, but Lana just wanted power.  I'm not saying I don't feel bad about what happened to her as a little girl when her parents died, but looking back now, I can't say that she turned out for the better...what?" he suddenly asks, registering my laughter.

"I'm sorry, it's just so strange hearing you use the word 'bitch'," I laugh.  

Clark frowns and leans in so that his lips are right by my ear.  "Bitch," he hisses.  

I laugh harder.  So hard, that Clark pats my back, trying to get me breathe again.  When I finally do stop laughing, I ask Clark another question.  "How about me?"

"What about you?" asks Clark, frowning.

"Does the reality live up to the fantasy where I am concerned?" I ask.

Clark offers a considerate look.  "We've made a mess of ourselves since last winter, but I'm willing to make that reality better than the fantasy if you are."

I beam at him.  "I can get on board with that." 

Clark looks out the window.  "The sun's still out; do you want to go down to the water with me?"  

Instead of answering him, I rise to my feet and Clark does the same.  He offers his hand and I accept it.  He then leads me towards the door.  As we walk out of the cabin, I see a bin that I hadn't taken the time to notice before.  Within the bin are several soda cans...each with the Green Arrow on them...as well as burn marks.  Clark catches my gaze.

"I needed to vent, but Johnny asked me not to go knocking down Green Arrow monuments; I went on a shopping spree," he explains.  "Surprisingly, vaporizing soda with my heat vision is a very enjoyable pass-time."  

"Do you have any more where those came from?" I ask hopefully. 

"Not right now, but I can go somewhere and find sodas with the Green Arrow on them," he promises with a wink.  "If you'd rather, I'll even let you do the shooting if you remember to bring one of your handguns sometime."  

I beam at him again as we walk down the hill towards the river.  "I'd love that."

By now the river has grown louder and I can feel the gentle chill coming off of it.  We reach the bank, but Clark doesn't stop.  Indulging him, he leads me down the bank towards the cliff where the waterfall is.  I hesitate, not sure about what Clark is planning.  Before I can say anything though, we reach the cliff and my mind goes blank.  The drop isn't considerably deep, in fact it looks safe enough that, assuming the water is deep enough, someone can dive into the water from here.  While the river continues until it disappears behind trees and hills, there is a large natural pool directly underneath the waterfall.  The sun is still high enough that it reflects off the water in an impossibly gorgeous glow that makes me wonder if there are lights hidden somewhere below the waterline, illuminating the pool like a pool in someone's backyard, or even the indoor pool at the Queen Mansion.  

"You wanna dive in right now?" asks Clark.  

Before I can stop myself, a nervous chuckle escapes my lips.  "I don't know."

Clark smiles understandingly.  "Don't worry, there's a safe way down."  I follow him to, I guess what could amount to steps leading down to the bottom of the cliff.  Either they were there naturally, or Clark placed them there, but it's a steady decent that looks as if it were carved out of the cliff side far enough away from the flow of water so that they don't get dangerously slippery.  When we reach the bottom, I watch entranced as Clark strips off his shirt and sandals so that he is just in his swimsuit.  Rolling my eyes, I follow suit and strip off my shirt and skirt.  

I try not to, but I find myself reveling in the way Clark drinks in the sight of me in my blue two-piece swimsuit.  At least we are away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi who still bother me for being Oliver Queen's widow.  Where was that unabashed lust when we were in high school visiting Crater Lake?  Friends or no friends at one time or another, I hate Lana Lang.  

"Come stand underneath the waterfall," invites Clark.  "Don't worry, it's safe."

I shuffle on my feet as my hands clasp and unclasp.  "Um...I don't know."

"Chloe, you're here to get wet," Clark reminds me patiently.  "Please don't chicken out now."  He holds out his hand as he walks backward towards the spray of the waterfall.  I see him gasp a little as the water hits him, but soon, as his body becomes soaked, he's raising his arms to the heavens and basking in the water gushing down on him.  

I take a tentative step towards the water.  And then another.  And another.  And another.  Soon I feel the haze of the waterfall and I reach out and touch the waterfall.  Quickly, I yank my hand back.  Clark sees and cocks his head.  

"What's the matter?"

"It's too cold!" I shout over the roar of the water.  

Clark rolls his eyes and before I can stop him, he reaches out, grabs me and drags me under the waterfall with him.  

A long drawn-out squeal escapes my lips as the water hits me.  Clark just chuckles and, in spite of myself, I end up chuckling too.  Through the spray of the water, I gaze up into his eyes and he stares right back down into mine.  I want so desperately to kiss him, tear off his swimsuit and make love to him, but we agreed to take things slow.  As much as I want him to put his hands and lips everywhere on me, that's not how I want this date to go down.  Too many times, we ended up making love to each other before we actually got into asking personal questions and discussing how we came to love each other, what we wanted for the future.  So, I push back my lust as best I can.

I break my gaze from Clark's eyes and I stare down into the pool a couple of feet below us.  I stare back up at him.  With a sweet smile, I give him a rough push and he loses his balance and tumbles into the water.  I don't know nor care if he let himself get pushed by me.  His head pops out of the water and he scowls at me.  I dive into the water.  This pool must be  _very_ deep.  Especially if Clark was inviting me to dive right into it at the top of the cliff earlier.  Eventually, I swim back to the surface and I gasp for breath as my head pops out of the water.  Just as quickly as I catch my breath though, I feel Clark's hands snake their way around my body.  I open my eyes and see him staring straight into mine.  

What did I do wrong all those years to not have that look of adoration pointed at me?  Why did I tangle myself up with Jimmy Olsen when I could have seen where a relationship with Clark could have gone?  Oh, what the hell, I can't stop myself.  

I lean forward and graze his lips with my own.  Clark responds and he opens his lips to me and tongues begin that dance that I haven't realized I've been craving for so long.  Clark keeps his hands around my waist, but I wish they would go a bit higher or a little lower.  My body aches with the need for him to touch me, but I don't want things to go too fast.  But would it really be so bad if I am at least topless?  

My dirty thoughts are interrupted by a growl.  I wish it had come from the back of my throat, fueled by my need for Clark, but it came from my stomach.  Clark notices and our lips break apart.  

"Put...those lips...back!" I growl, although my voice feels a bit faint in my ears from the water gushing.

Clark considers my command for a minute or two.  "Okay, but first I'm going to feed you."

"Then you make love to me?" I blurt out.

Clark smiles coyly.  "Play your cards right."

As the sun begins to set, Clark starts a fire in a large fire circle outside of his cabin and he brings out a bunch of hot dogs, buns, some freshly chopped onions and ketchup and mustard.  He also brings out potato chips and stuff to make s'mores.  

When I give him a questioning look, he simply tells me that he has made plenty of fancy meals for me.  There's nothing wrong being a bit simple once in a while.  

As we roast hot dogs over the large fire Clark made, we just talk.  I ask him how he fell in love with me.  He goes on to explain that he had been in love with me for a very long time, longer than he even knew it.  He figured that there was more than just the fact that he cared about me as a friend given how protective he was of me growing up.  Not to mention all the times he had saved my life.  He wagged his finger at me and called me a troublemaker.  What could I say?  Maybe Clark makes me want to be a bad girl.  Shame on me...or maybe not.  He genuinely wanted to start a relationship with me after Spring Formal, but he took my "wanting to remain really good friends" to heart and let it be.  Sadly, our friendship suffered that year.  In fact, it suffered for the next  _two_ years, if not necessarily for the same reasons.  He thinks that his feelings have always run a bit deeper than the simply desire to be friends, but never had the push to pursue it.  What about all the pushing from his mother?  

Lana Lang.  

At least Lois is a more decent woman, even if I feel that she lost some of that spunk that I loved so much as I saw her begin to fall for Clark.  

Clark asks me how I fell in love with him.  Does he really need to ask?  His looks certainly help, but what about doing something so nice for me, getting me my favorite book, the first day we met for no particular reason?  What about being my friend when he could easily have moved on to other people?  I remember him saying to me, "Chloe, I could never outgrow you.  Other than vertically."  What about all the times he saved my life?  What about just constantly giving me reason to not stay angry at him, even when I put him in the penalty box?  What about making me feel beautiful even if he didn't say it to me as much as he could have?  I used to think that it was because he wasn't interested in me that he never gawked when I wore low-cut tops or dresses with plunging necklines, but recently I have started to think that it was the opposite.  He never gawked at me because he  _always_ thought I was beautiful and I wasn't throwing myself at him--usually--by exploiting myself the way plenty of our classmates did.  

As we eat our campfire meal, we delve into more personal subjects.  I ask Clark what he'd like in a family.  Clark takes awhile before he answers.  When he does, he goes on to say that he has no idea how long he'll live, but he'd love to be able to share his life with somebody without them being taken away from him by the slow decay of time.  He confesses that he has considered touching gold kryptonite if only so that he could grow old with somebody like a normal person.  I would admonish him for that, but then I realize that Clark has never really gotten over his desire to be like other people.  Not really.  If he did have somebody that he could share a life with for however long he lives, he thinks that, in terms of children, maybe he would have a few at a time and when his spouse was ready..assuming she never reaches menopause, have a few more, then a few more, again and again.  I joke that he might have to keep a list of all his children's names.  He argues that he's sure he would never forget his children's names.  

It saddens him that he knows that as time goes by, the friends he's made, the children he has saved from death, will only grow old and die anyway.  I don't know how long me and my son and hopefully my daughter will live, but I would love to reassure him that I'll be there for him as long as I can.  For as long as he'll let me be there for him.  Now I think of it, the same applies for me and my children.  

Immortality, or close to it, is really not as flattering as people might think.  Death can be a scary thing for both the religious and nonreligious, but personally, I feel that it would be worse staying young and healthy forever when those who aren't whither and pass away.  

Before I can stop myself, I say, "I'll always be here for you, Clark." 

Clark smiles and we don't say anything as we share our tender moment.  When we both finish eating, Clark invites me to lie down with him on a quilt.  I accept his invitation and we stare up at the sky.  I never really got into astronomy, but I guess when Clark wasn't spying on Lana Lang, he was actually stargazing.  I listen, fascinated as Clark drones about the different stars.  The ones that we read about in textbooks and even some that he learned from his lessons up in the Arctic.  He shows me where in the sky the star that Krypton orbited would be if it was still there.  There's nothing there.  

Eventually, Clark drifts off to sleep and I just stare at him for a few moments.  He looks so peaceful, so content.  What would it be like to call this man my husband?  What would it be like to have a few raven-haired children running around a Kansas farm that I could also call mine?  So many happy questions drift through my mind as sleep overcomes me.  

"Thank you for the date, Clark," I mumble into his chest and I close my eyes.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

I awaken to the sensation of something stroking the back of my neck.  As my eyes drift open, I realize it's Clark's fingers.  I turn over a little and smile sleepily as my eyes land on Clark.  He smiles back down at me.  

"Hey," he says.  

"Hey," I greet back, groggily.  A laugh escapes my lips.  

"What?" laughs Clark.  

"It's just..." I begin, my voice becoming a little clearer, "I've never slept under the stars before."  

"Hmm," grunts Clark.  "We're gonna have to fix that."

"Not happening," I declare, even as I snuggle deeper into the crook of Clark's arm.  "I'm an indoor girl; I sleep in beds."

"Really?" scoffs Clark.  "Sure doesn't look like you're in a bed."  

Indeed I am not.  I am curled up on a quilt with Clark Kent next to a fire that smoldered down into a smoky, but hot mess.  There's a thin blanket of mist on the grass and I can guess that the sun is not far away from the horizon.  

"You're definitely a heavy sleeper, even for a woman who loves her coffee," observes Clark, now stroking circles on top of my covered breasts.  "I was even able to untangle myself from you to paint another portrait of you."  

"What?" I laugh.  Clark reaches behind him and his hand reappears with a canvas.  I rub my eyes a little and as my vision clears, I see a picture of a sleeping form in a white shirt that is unbuttoned and her blue bra-covered breasts squeezed together a little bit as she lies on her side a bit.  She has freckles in all the wrong places, including the triangle of freckles on her left cheek and her face is etched in that sort of contentment that can only come from a very pleasant dream.  Her whole body is illuminated by the glow of a fire that gives her normally pale skin a tint that can usually come from a nice tan.  Her barely shoulder-length hair that she had decided to wear straight has a bit of a golden glow that looks as if it is made of pure sunlight.  

I smile.  "It's gorgeous," is all I can say.  "I'm not sure that I am that beautiful, though."

Clark gently sets the painting back down on top of the chair so that it wouldn't get damp and his hand returns to cup my chin.  "Chloe, I painted everything I saw.  How many times do I have to tell you that it's not impossible for me to think--no to  _know--_ that you are a beautiful, desirable woman?"  

All I can do is smile up at Clark.  In the early morning mist, he looks like a ghost, a dark-haired beauty that materialized from a hazy dream that I dreamed countless times.  I cup his hand with my own as we bore into each other's eyes.  Two months without those eyes directed at me was too long.  Not having that look of adoration upon me for that long was torture.  I might have convinced myself that I was fine without him for a minute or two, but looking at him now, I see what I have missed.  

I can't help myself.  Slowly, I take his hand that is cupping my cheek and I plant a kiss upon his palm.  Clark's breath hitches in his throat, but I don't stop.  Never taking my eyes off of him, I continue to plant kisses on his hand, delicately exploring every contour with my lips and cheek.  Such soft hands.  No one shaking Clark's hand for the first time would ever suspect him of being somebody who grew up on a farm.  Clark's breath seems to have stopped, focusing purely on the sensation I am creating on his hand.  My tongue flicks out and swirls in endless circles on upon the skin of his palm.  Clark's eyes squeeze shut he almost seems on the verge of sobbing from pleasure.  

"Please look at me, Clark," I ask him softly.  Clark opens his eyes and I trap them with mine as I take one of his fingers and slide it into my mouth.  He tastes exactly the way this foresty mountain retreat smells and I love it.  I run my tongue upon the skin of his fingers as I slide his finger back out and rain kisses all over it.  I repeat the action on the rest of his fingers, savoring the taste of him and all the while, Clark's eyes never leave mine.  I can tell he wants me to kiss him, tear off his shirt and swim trunks, but I am not ready for that.  I need to take my time with him, to savor every bit of the man that has shown nothing but pure devotion to me in one form or another.  

I cease my actions with his fingers and my mouth moves to the inside of Clark's wrist.  I wet my lips and I trail the veins underneath his skin with them.  Pulling back a little, I blow a little air on his wrist and a whimper rises out of Clark.   

"Please, Chloe," Clark begs.  

I ignore his pleadings.  I feel moisture gather between my legs, soiling my blue panties, but as much as I want Clark inside me, I have other plans first.  Finally, I lift my face from Clark's hand and wrist and I sit up.  Clark moves to sit up with me, but I place a delicate hand on his chest, stopping him.  With a glint in my eye, I shake my head at him, but I never breathe a word.  Our eyes still upon each other, I hook a leg over him so that my thigh is pressed against him groin.  Before I can stop myself, I rub against him, just once, but very slowly.  The vibrations sends a moan out of us both and Clark tries to settle his hands on my bare hips, but again I stop him.  I almost find myself struggling not to blink, worrying that if I close my eyes just once, I'll open them back up again to find that this is only a dream or a cruel hallucination.  

I gather his wrists in one hand and I place them above his head.  Holding them there, I lean forward and brush my lips over Clark's eyes.  I trail kisses down the contours of his face until my mouth settles upon his neck.  Our eyes are no longer upon each other, but as I lavish his neck with kisses and strokes of my tongue, I really don't care at the moment.  Eventually, I release Clark's wrists and my hands snake down his body until I find the catches of his shirt.  I let Clark sit up a little so that I can lift the shirt over his head, but he obediently lies back down on the quilt.  I begin trailing the muscles of his torso with my tongue and Clark's hands slip beneath my shirt.  My breath comes out as a shudder as Clark's big hands settle on my back, stroking up and down in a soft motion, clawing my back every so often.  The sensation drives helpless whimpers out of me and as my tongue snakes its way back from his navel to his chin, I sit up, adjusting my legs so that I am straddling his waist.  

I shudder slightly from the cold as Clark slips the shirt off of my shoulders.  However, as our eyes lock again, I feel that telltale warmth that I sometimes feel.  It's like that controlled amount of heat vision that I swear comes whenever we are tangled up with each other like this.  I almost don't want to kiss him.  I don't want to stop looking into the sapphire depths of his eyes.  His hands still settled on my back, I reach behind me and grab them.  I bring them around front and place them on my covered breasts.  I throw my head back in ecstasy as Clark squeezes my breasts just a little, his thumbs reaching underneath them and tracing circles into my flesh.  With no input from my brain, I reach behind me and unhook my bra.  I let it tumble off of my shoulders and Clark sits up and I cry out as his lips close over my nipple.  His tongue swirls against the swollen nub and my hands gather in his hair as I squeeze him against me.  

I don't know why, but I feel tears streaming down my cheeks.  Maybe it's just that I've waited so long for Clark to touch me again.  The fear that he would  _never_ touch me again.  Clark seems to notice my sobs and we face each other.  The concern in his eyes, the unabashed lust underneath them, the unadulterated love that I crave every day and dream of every night.  Between my sobs, my hands cup his cheeks and I smile at him as if seeing him for the first time in ages.  He smiles too and whether he made the first move or I did, we are kissing.  Fierce, hot, wild, near animalistic kisses as we become a tangle of limbs.  Seemingly in a blur of movement, we dispense of the rest of each other's clothes and I find myself underneath Clark with legs wrapped around him.  I run my tongue along his face and shoulders again and he groans at the touch of my lips.

I want him to slip inside me so badly, but I don't think he is ready for that.  His body slithers its way down mine, despite my efforts to keep him where I could continue wetworking his ear, but my breath hitches as his lips settle on my stomach.  I'd love it if he would go just a little higher or a bit lower, but I didn't go down on him, so maybe he's trying to figure out other ways to pleasure me too.  As he lavishes my stomach with his tongue, his hands never stop moving.  I writhe like a fish out of the water as his hands play with my breasts, then rumble against my rib cage, then settle between my thighs.  I scream like a banshee as he sticks a finger inside me and draws intricate patterns inside me.  

"Please, Clark," I beg him over and over again.  He ignores my pleadings, much the way my ears were deaf to his pleadings earlier.  What little muscle I have left in my arms as Clark brings me closer and closer to the brink, I run my hands along his spine.  I am trashing uncontrollably, but still Clark hasn't brought me to my peak.  

Finally, he stops all motion and we lock eyes again.  We don't say a word.  What words are there?  I reach down and I let out a glad cry as Clark slips inside me.  I wrap my arms and legs around him as our bodies move together.  I try to keep my eyes open for as long as I can, but soon my body erupts in blinding sensation as Clark explodes inside me.  

 

It takes us both a very long time to reassemble ourselves.  When my mind slips back into focus, I find Clark collapsed beside me looking just as sweat-slick as I do.  We lock eyes and, before long we both burst out laughing.  I drape myself over him and my shoulders continue to shake as I laugh into his chest.  

"And I thought we were taking things slow?" Clark reminds me between laughs.  

I clear my throat and turn very serious.  "Yes, absolutely."  

Clark raises his eyebrows and that only sets me off again.  "We should be getting back to Metropolis."  

"Oh, can't we stay a bit longer?" begs Clark.  "You need a shower; whose going to wash your back?"

I smile coyly.  "You can wash any part of me you want Clark...as long as I get to wash any part of you."

"Bargain struck," agrees Clark.  

 

Over the next hour, Clark nearly gives me another orgasm as we share a shower.  Not wanting me to leave without him feeding me, we share chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, and coffee.  I'm almost reluctant to leave as I gather my things and Clark whisks me back to Metropolis.  He drops me off at the door to my hotel suite and blurs away.   

"No kiss?" I grumble.

Clark blurs back and I nearly squeal as he pulls me flush against him in a mind-numbing kiss.  As his lips move against mine, all comprehensive thought melts from my brain.  I feel lightheaded as if in a daze and all my brain can comprehend is the sensation of Clark's lips against mine.  When he finally breaks away from me, I'm think my mind is irrecoverably fried. "I love you," he whispers in my ear huskily.  Then blurs away again.  

Still in a daze, I use my key card and step into the suite.  I find Johnny stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in one of the hotel's bathrobes.  He sees me and smiles.  

"So how was your date?" he asks.

I stare up at him blankly and his look turns worried.  

"Mom?" he asks, snapping his fingers in front of my face.  

I don't answer him.  I just grab him and pull him down to me as I plant a kiss on his forehead with a loud "Mmchwa!"  I release him and smile up at him.  "You look handsome today."  And he really does, but his face is now etched in horror.  

Blinking at me several times, he finally says, "Um...I am going to go back to bed and when I wake up I am going to look for my mother."  He walks past me and I whimper.

"Honey!" I call after him. 

"You're covered in hickeys, Mother!" he yells back.  "Brush your hair, change your clothes, let those hickeys disappear and  _then_ invite me out for one of our mother-son outings."  

Hickeys?  I open the door to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.  I really am covered in lovebites.  My shoulders rise and fall as I exhale.  "I'm such a terrible mother."  Then I hear laughing behind me.  My wide-eyed look turns into a scowl as I turn my head towards the door and find Johnny laughing at me and with his phone in his hand!

Did he just...?

"Yes, Mom,  _such_ a terrible mother," the camera shutter clicks and he moonwalks away, still laughing.  "Don't worry, I still love you!" he says from the other room.  

I cover my face and groan.  

And Clark blames my sexiness for my son's playfulness. 


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had to completely rewrite the first half of this chapter as I accidentally exed out of this page without saving first, but I did the best I can. Please enjoy.

Moving out, figuring out what to take and what to leave behind is a harder task than I thought it would be.  Clark insisted on taking care of bringing the things I want to fill my apartment with on his own.  At least that spares me having to rent a moving van.  Over the last few weeks as Johnny's senior year has been drawing to a close, I've had no easier time trying to decide what to leave behind.  I've accumulated quite a few things during the course of my marriage to Oliver Queen and I didn't realize how hard some of those things were to give up.  My apartment is sizable, but it's not big enough for everything.

Even before I found my new apartment in Metropolis, I was working on getting rid of some of the things that I've gotten over the course of my marriage to Oliver.  I got rid of most of my jewelry.  Some of my jewelry, I've kept, particularly some of the things that Johnny has gotten me over the years.  I haven't even gotten rid of my wedding bands.  I don't wear them anymore, but I'm hoping that maybe Johnny will at least want to give my engagement ring (which didn't really involve an actual engagement) to a young woman someday.  I don't know, but I feel that it's quite special for a son to offer a lady his mother's engagement ring.  I'll keep the wedding band at least until Johnny decides he wants to give the woman that ring as well or not.  One of my favorite pieces of jewelry actually came from Clark.  Looking back now, it wasn't as platonic a gift as I might have thought at the time, even if Oliver never knew about them, but Clark once gave me a pair of silver House of El crest earrings.  When I asked where he found them, he told me that a street vendor from Japan offered them to him while he was on Superman business.  He said the worst part was that the vendor didn't accept any cash and Clark did happen to have a some Japanese currency with him at the time.

I did something similar to him on one occasion when I got him what I hoped looked exactly like Jonathan Kent's watch.  It still angers me that Clark buried his father's watch.  When I found out he did that, I broke a few of Oliver's arrows.  I was too angry to even scold Clark about it.  

I guess, over the years, Clark and I have blurred the line of deep friendship and that of two people in love more than we both realized.  Actually, I think that that could be said even before I married Oliver.  

Some of the things that I have kept most of are my clothes.  As much as Oliver always got me very beautiful dresses over the years, I never really liked other people shopping for me when it came to clothes.  Maybe that's not entirely true.  As Johnny developed his uncanny fashion sense, I've started consulting him on things to wear.  i didn't let him choose what clothes I bought, but I often went to him for advice when it came to deciding what to wear to what events.  

Other things I definitely wanted to fill my apartment with are my books, my scrapbooks full of newspaper clippings and, of course, my Wall of Weird clippings.  That was probably one of the roughest parts of my marriage to Oliver--trying to figure out how to balance his partiality for green and lethal toys and my geek chic when we still lived in our first apartment together.  I do think that I ended up having to most control since, when Johnny was born, Oliver moved all of his Green Arrow gear to a shipping container in a secure yard.  

As for Johnny's grand piano, I'm not sure that I want that piano to leave this house.  Johnny hasn't expressed any interest in keeping this house as it holds many sad memories for him, but still I think I'll stick with buying a new grand piano for the apartment.  There's another thing Clark is good for--helping with immovable objects like a full-size grand piano.  

Maybe Thea might want to keep this house someday, but as much as I don't want to live here anymore, I don't want to sell it either.  Johnny has expressed interest in living somewhere in New York state.  As much as he is great at offering fashion advice, he decided that he has no interest in going to F.I.T.  Right now, he is actually having trouble deciding between Stanford and Harvard.  Both have offered him huge promises for a great, smooth education, but still he is having trouble.  I figure that it might do him good mentally to spend some time away from California, but it's up to him.  

As for the house, maybe someday Johnny will want to live in it again.  I have faith that he will be able to fill it with new, happy memories that the memory of Oliver Queen and my failed marriage will be nothing more than a barely visible scar.  Maybe he will even take Queen Industries and mold it into something that he can call his own.  

And of course, Johnny is always welcome in my apartment for as long as I live there.

Right now I am sitting in his bedroom trying to figure out what to do with his things.  Johnny is at school right now and he has explicitly told me that he would like to be the one to decide what happens with his things, but still I would like to at least take a moment to reflect.  

As I sit on his large memory foam bed, I really have to admire his bedroom.  Johnny outgrew posters and comic books a long time ago, so the walls of his room are devoid of anything other than a few pictures and some wall-mounted shelves.  He sure has more books than I think he knows what to do with.  Even while he was into comic books and superheroes like Warrior Angel, Johnny was a fan of Harry Potter and he has two copies of the whole series--the regular version and the fully illustrated copies.  His taste in books has ranged from Jane Austen, to Alexander Dumas, to J.R.R. Tolkien, to Brandon Sanderson, to Stephen King, to Neil Gaiman, and quite a few more.  

Books weren't his only passion growing up, though.  His computer setup almost feels--at least to me--like a miniature version of Watchtower with his powerful laptop hooked up to a couple of monitors (one of them is actually his wall-mounted TV set) and an impressive sound system.  He never did it too often, but sometimes he indulged in video games.  He might have binged a video game for maybe a week or two and then it would be many more weeks before he picked up another one.  

His room is full of a few more items that he acquired in his life.  Souvenirs, a music box that Aimee gave to him once, and of course there are his diaries.  Ever since Clark gave him his first diary on his fourteenth birthday, Johnny has written at least once a week in a diary.  Respectfully, I never read one of his diaries, but I do know what his handwriting looks like.  Johnny's school doesn't teach cursive, which I think is silly, so he had to teach himself how to write in cursive and I must say that he does it really well.  I can remember a few times I had to arm-twist a couple of his teachers for scolding him for writing his written essays in cursive.  If he wants to write in cursive, then they should just shut up and let him!  

I feel so guilty about this, but now I am curious.  I get up from Johnny's bed, upsetting Artemis who had her head in my lap and I walk over to the shelf with Johnny's diaries.  I select the newest one and return to where I was sitting on his bed.

As I flip through Johnny's diary, I can't help but smile at the beauty of his penmanship.  I once gave Johnny a pilot-tip calligraphy pen for Christmas with his name on is and I have never seen him use another pen whenever I saw him writing in one of his diaries.  I continue to flip through the diary until something catches my eye.

One of the entries is "Dear Dad" instead of "Dear Diary."  The entry was from this past April.  I can't help myself as I begin to read the entry.

_~~Dear Diary~~ , actually, this feels more like a letter to Dad, so I'll go with Dear Dad,_

The entry began.

Johnny goes on to talk about my meltdown the day the school caught fire, saying that I wasn't the only one to bare the brunt of it.  I read that Johnny had been talking to Clark a lot during that time that Clark and I didn't speak and I can't help but feel a bit of jealousy.  Why does that boy get to talk to Clark when I don't get to?  Johnny went on to say that Clark was worried about me all that time and Clark was scared about the chances of our relationship recovering.  Sure didn't seem that way to me, but it would seem that Clark confides in my son a lot.  Is my son replacing me as Clark's best friend?  

The more I read the more I am sucked in.  Johnny laments that it seemed that Clark and I never went on a true date and even went so far as to say that it wasn't unlike how my relationship with Oliver began.  Actually the exact words were, 

_Almost seems like how your relationship with Mom started out, doesn't it?_

I take offense to that; I might have been attracted to Oliver somewhat, but I wasn't  _in love_ with him.  But these are my son's deepest, darkest thoughts, so I read on.  Johnny wondered if some of my deeply rooted anger issues stem from me not having much of a real relationship prior to my marriage to Oliver.  He's not terribly wrong there.  Sometimes, he wondered if Oliver and I had dated for maybe six months or whatever that we would have decided that our relationship wouldn't have worked out and he would never have existed.  Johnny writes that Clark had been the one to remind him to not wish he never existed.  I certainly never knew Johnny felt that way.  Clark told Johnny about the time he wished he never existed and he was sent to a reality where he truly never existed.  I remember that time.  I'm glad that Clark was willing to lecture my son on being happy to be in this world, but still Johnny goes on to write what negative effects would there be if  _he_ never existed.

Where would his friends be?  Would Oliver still be alive?  Would Oliver be in and out of rehab so many times, or even dead from liquor abuse?  Would Lois have a few of his bastards?  Would Clark and I be together or even married?  Would we have been in such a bad place that we couldn't even stand to be in the same room with each other?  Would Clark and Lois still be together or even married?  Would his friend Aimee have perished in that fire?  

Johnny writes that he tries not to think about it too much--thank you, Johnny.  He goes on to say that Clark reminds him all the time how happy he is to have him in his life.  Don't I do that plenty?  He goes on to say that as he reevaluated his life, Clark has been more a father figure to him than Oliver ever did.  Oliver might have given him awesome gifts, taught him to be a warrior, and took him on lavish vacations, but when it came to heart-to-hearts, life lessons, teaching him to be a better person, being there when he needed a shoulder to cry on, being a friend to him when he was at his loneliest, or even when  _I_ was at  _my_ loneliest, Clark was the one to do all those things.  Johnny says that the best gifts Clark ever gave him was flight and his wolf mix, Artemis.  He mentions that Oliver was great to him earlier in his life, but as he grew older, Oliver grew farther and farther away from him until Johnny could no longer find him.  

I didn't know  _this_ , but Clark was the one who gave Johnny the sex talk.  I imagine Johnny was joking around a little with this but he also said that he wondered what would have been less awkward.  Hearing the sex talk from an awkward farmboy or someone like his father--a man who spent more time between a woman's legs--or more than one woman God forbid--than actually getting to know them.  Very crass, but I agree with him when he says that both are extremes and, while he might have had what sounded like an awkward enough time hearing it from Clark, he feels that Clark turned out for the better as a person.  He asks would Oliver still be a "promiscuous, spiky-haired Casanova" if he was still alive?  Would he have been unfaithful to me if it wasn't for the fact that Johnny was in our lives as well as the threat of castration by Clark's heat vision?  

The next bit absolutely stuns me.  If the more jerky look to his handwriting is any inclination, these words really put the tone of this entry into perspective.

 _Maybe, maybe not, but you know what?  You're dead, so I'll never know for sure.  Fuck you, Dad.  Fuck you for not being there in all the times I needed you.  Fuck you for needing Clark Kent to convince you and Mom to have a real marriage ceremony_ after _I was born.  Fuck you for not being a better husband to Mom.  Fuck you for not being here so I can scream at you.  Fuck you for not being alive!  FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU_ FUCK YOU _!_

The rest of the entry, Johnny's handwriting is more graceful leading me to believe that either he took a few minutes to cool down or that blowup released all the anger that was building up inside of him.

He mentions me going to therapy and that it seemed to help me a bit and I'd like to tell him that it really has.  He was sure that Clark and I would patch things up and I can't help but smile when he says that Clark and I not getting along is just gross.  He says that Clark and I not getting along would be like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger not getting along.

"Huh," I grunt out loud.  "I never looked at it  _that_ way."

Johnny describes that I had been less irritable and the two of us had actually started talking to each other and even having shared coffee and dinner alone together when I was able to send Thea to daycare.  Now that I think of it, Johnny and I didn't really spend too much time together during all that time that I was recovering from my meltdown...or even when I was reveling in my newfound relationship with Clark.  My son might be eighteen, but he unashamedly loves bonding with me.  

Johnny describes that I have been really helpful in giving him dating advice over the years--thanks, buddy--and that he and Aimee had been patching things up.  I imagine he was joking when he wrote that Tess might rain hell down on Aimee if Aimee breaks his heart.  As much as I'd like to compare that sentiment to how I was when Clark was dating Lana Lang off and on, I can't.  Through my observations, Aimee was never a fantasy that my son kept lusting after the way Lana was for Clark.  Aimee wasn't-- _isn't--_ some crush that my son needs to overcome.  

Johnny finished up the entry by saying at the time that he didn't know for sure if Clark and I would become romantically involved again.  He didn't know if he would become romantically involved with Aimee again and he ends the entry with two simply words,

_Goodbye, Dad._

 

I just sit there for several minutes, skimming through some of Johnny's other entries and I guess he has more anger issues than I thought.  I had no idea that he was so apprehensive of my relationship with Clark at one point and he spent the months that felt more like a prolonged tryst with Clark lamenting that I was doing what I did with Oliver prior to my marriage to him all over again.  Why didn't he tell me those things?  Why didn't he tell me that he felt that Clark and I took things faster than either of us could handle?  Looking back, he's absolutely right, but without meaning to, did I just forget to be my son's mother while I was spending more time sleeping with Clark than I did dating him?  

"Mom?"

I jump so hard that Artemis hops off the bed with yelp and the journal flies out of my hands.  

I turn towards the door and I don't think my look of horror could match the look on my son's face.  Johnny, handsome as ever with his button-up shirt, finger-combed hair, and his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, glances from me to the diary, to me, to the diary.  

"What are you doing!" he demands, his voice a lot higher than his usual handsome baritone.  Why do I feel that Johnny would have been  _less_ mortified if I had walked in on him in the shower?

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out as Johnny rushes over to the diary and snatches it off the floor, holding it to him protectively.  

"Do you ever feel guilty about being a journalist, Mother?" my son screams at me.  

What does this have to do with journalism?  I close my eyes as realization dawns on me.  Curiosity.  That curiosity that nearly ruined my friendship with Clark for good in high school.  That curiosity that made me expose a lot of meteor freaks and, perhaps single-handedly, formed a new form of prejudice within the community of Smallville.  The curiosity that I had suppressed more or less out of guilt after I discovered Clark Kent's secret.  

"I'm sorry," I mumble meekly.  

Johnny stares at me for a moment, but then he shakes his head.  "Ughh!"  He makes to gather up his diaries and flee the room, but I ask,

"Why didn't you ever tell me that my newfound relationship with Clark was making you uncomfortable?"  

Johnny stops gathering his diaries for a minute and turns slightly, but not enough to face me.  "You were so happy, Mom," he eventually replies quietly.  "You were so excited to be in a relationship with Clark and even though it hurt to see you move so quickly, ignore me to the point that you brushed me off with perfunctory pieces of advice when I really needed someone to talk to, I didn't want to get in the way of your happiness."  He turns to me and there are tears sparkling in his eyes.  "So I learned to live with the pain than to show my true feelings."

I narrow my eyes.  Wow, this kid really is my son.  It sounds just like me, bottling up the pain and not having anyone to help relieve it.  Although, it seems that Johnny had somewhere to put that pain--in his diaries.  Why didn't I think about that growing up?  

"Johnny do you not like Clark and I being in a relationship?" I ask him carefully.

"NO!" Johnny shouts, making me jump again.  "Mom, assuming you read any of my journal entries that I think you read, you should know that I  _love_ Clark!  Aside from just being a wonderful person to me all my life, I  _love_ that he makes you happy.  Yes, I wish that Dad was someone that worthy of a longer mourning period for you.  I was venting in some of my entries, yes, but I loved Dad too.  God, I just wish that there could be a day when I could come back to this house and a teenage Thea would smother me in hugs and 'I missed you's' and we would groan and laugh as you and Dad tortured us with your P.D.A. while we shared a fancy dinner I made for everyone!"  His shoulders are rising and falling as he closes some of the distance between us.  "But none of that will ever happen because Dad is dead and even if he wasn't, by now you two would be divorced and the media would be covering  _that_ instead of my rescuing Aimee from that burning building--and yes, reporters are still trying to get a word out of me about that."  

Johnny stares at me a long time, but soon tears begin to fall from his eyes and as he begins to sob, he tries to turn away, but I quickly capture him in a hug.  He sobs harder than I have heard him sob in a very long time as he gives up trying to push me away and just wraps his arms around me.  "I miss Dad so much, Mom," he mumbles through his tears.  

"Shh," I soothe him.  "I know you miss your father, sweetie."  We sink onto the bed together and I stroke Johnny's hair as he sobs into my shoulder.  "Can you look at me, please?" I ask him gently.  

Johnny lifts his head and fixes his eyes on me.  

"I'm sorry if I ignored you a few months ago," and I really do mean it.  "Please don't ever feel that you can't tell me when I am doing something that makes you uncomfortable."

Johnny blinks slowly.  "But Mom, it really isn't up to me if Clark makes you happy, so--"

"So nothing," I cut him off firmly.  "If you want me to take things slower with Clark, at least so that you don't have to grieve for your father alone, then I will."

A smile spreads across Johnny's lips.  "I'd say that you and Clark have done a good job of that already these past few weeks."

I smile too.  "Thank you."  As much as I would love to bare Clark's children, I've also gone back on birth control.  I love Clark Kent very much, but I want things to go properly.  I want to avoid another flop like my relationship with Oliver at all costs.  

"Oh, and Mom?"

"Hmm?

"Don't  _ever_ read one of my diaries again."

I gulp.  "I don't plan to."  I quickly change the subject.  "Now, why don't I help you get ready for prom this weekend," I offer with a wink.

Johnny laughs through his tears.  "I'm not going to prom." 

 


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

I can't say that I'm all too surprised by Johnny's decision to not go to his prom.  My prom sure wasn't the fairy tale prom that I might have hoped for.  I wore a beautiful dress, saw Clark had come as well and then most of my night was ruined by some prom queen wannabe who...wore my body.  If that wan't bad enough, no one danced with me and I had to watch Clark dance with the one and only Lana Lang.  I went home that night and cried myself to sleep without even taking off my dress.  I did get rid of my tiara though.  Or more accurately, I broke it in half and set the pieces on fire.  It sure would have been a lot more special if Clark and Lois were there with me, but when Lana Lang entered the picture, I was little more than a glorified bystander.  Not even that, sometimes.  

Maybe Johnny wants to avoid having a ruined prom of his own.  His freshman homecoming was plain awful.  It started out quite nicely.  He danced with his best friend, Aimee, and just for the sake of it, he danced with the homecoming queen when he was crowned king, but for him it went quickly downhill from there.  Johnny was knocked out and when he woke up, he found himself strapped to a chair by a very angry society boy.  That society boy was the son of a particularly corrupt business woman who was convicted for arms dealing with the Chinese Triad and I wrote an article describing the trial.  The attorney who convicted that society boy's mother happened to be Aimee's mother and, well poor Aimee had it worse that evening.  

The society boy wasn't clever enough to frisk Johnny and Johnny quickly got out of his zip-ties.  He found poor Aimee in another room in a similar situation and she told him a week or so later that the society boy's buddies were basically playing "rock, paper, scissors" over who was going to rape her first.  Aimee was afraid of being touched by every guy other than her dad and Johnny for weeks.  

I guess that's Star City.  A city of crime instead of a city of meteor freaks and the unexplained.  

I also never stopped being jealous of how well Johnny's spring formal went.  Not only did he dance with his best friend, but he kissed her!  As per his signature playfulness, he said to Aimee, "Great, now I'm angry with you.  How come you never told me what an awesome kisser you are?"

They were in a relationship for the next two years.  I had a long conversation about this with Lois once, but still I wonder where would I have been if _my_ spring formal went so well?  Would I have been in a relationship with  _my_ best friend at least for a little while?  Try as hard as I might have, would I really have gotten over my insecurity that was Lana Lang?  Knowing Clark, he would no doubt have done his best to be the man I deserved, but still would that have masked his lust for Lana Lang?  Would it have smothered my insecurities to the point where I could just revel in the fact that I had the hottest guy in the Midwest--or in the world really--on my arm?  

Either way, Johnny sure has had his touch of heartbreak at a later age than I ever did.  Of course, I wish that he didn't have to have that touch of heartbreak, but who really goes through life without experiencing heartache?  

Tonight is prom and Johnny is just reading a silly children's book to Thea while I just stand in the doorway, watching them.  She's not an age where she understands all the words he reads, but his impressions sure make his storytelling quite entertaining.  I sure find his storytelling quite entertaining.  The way he changes his voice when a character is speaking, the way he stops reading just for a minute to make an impression to intensify the tone of his reading--usually to a very enjoyable degree--the way he stays very gentle when he's trying to lull Thea to sleep--he's even made me fall asleep with his storytelling at times--or gets dramatic when he is simply aiming to entertain.  I don't think he means to, but I feel that in the absence of Oliver, Johnny is taking up a few father-like duties when it comes to his little sister.  

I guess it's not unusual for an elder sibling to take up a parental role in the absence of said parent.  But even while I was pregnant with Thea, while Oliver was missing, I needed help from people like Clark, Tess, Lois, and even Aimee to get Johnny to relax and just be a teenager once in awhile when he didn't have homework or studying to do.

I also worry that it's going to be a particularly emotional parting for us both when Johnny heads off to college.  I'll get to focus more on my budding relationship with Clark, but still, it's hard to say goodbye to a boy that you've raised.  It's difficult to wake up and realize that your child has reached the age where it's time for them to leave their home so that they can continue to grow.  

Johnny stops reading and I almost whimper at the loss of the atmosphere he's creating.  

"Goodnight, little sis," Johnny soothes as he places his twenty-one-month-old sister in her crib.  "I'm going to miss this little squirt when I head off to college," he laments without looking towards the door.  

"I know you will, sweetie," I say, smiling.  "You've been a great brother to her and if you're half the guy that you are with children, I know that one day you'll be a tremendous father."

Johnny looks back at me.  "What if I end up making the same mistakes as Dad in that department?"

I cock my head.  

"What if I end up not being there for my kids when they need me the most?  What if I end up being a terrible husband?  What if I end up just getting divorced like you and Dad were going to before he died?  What if...?"  I cut off his ramblings by closing the distance between us and wrapping my arms around him.  "What if I end up becoming somebody that you can no longer be proud of?" he asks more quietly.  

I sigh heavily.  I wish I had the answers for him, but even mothers don't know everything contrary to popular belief.  I try to give him the best answer I can as I break away from him just enough to lock eyes with him.  "You have your whole life ahead of you, Jonathan," I remind him.  "While I have faith that you will be a great husband and parent one day, just take things one at a time.  Right now, you just need to focus on furthering your education."  

Johnny frowns down at me, his emerald eyes searching mine pensively.  "Mom, why are you awesome?"  

My expression goes from that trying to be uplifting to glowing smugness.  "Mm, I don't know.  Why are you such a sweet boy?"

Johnny thinks about it for a minute.  He shrugs.  "Mm, I don't know," he replies, giving my words back to me.  "You might have to ask my mother, she's sweet, awesome, feisty, small, and her name is Chloe.  You might have heard of her.  You might even have met her on more occasions than even I know."

Careful so as not to wake Thea, we share a hushed laugh.  Just then, we hear the doorbell ring, followed soon by Artemis's greeting barks.  She doesn't bark terribly often, but sometimes she does.  

Johnny and I shared a look and the silent "Who could that be at ten o'clock in the evening?" passes across our faces.  

"Let's go see who's at the door," I invite.  We leave Thea's room and travel through the house until we reach the entry hall.  I answer the door and my eyes narrow at who I see.  

Dark, glittery hair tied back in a chignon bun with some loose sideswipe bangs that obscure her right eye, hazel-brown eyes somewhat intensified by her makeup, and lips normally devoid of anything other than lip balm now shiny with a small amount of red lipstick. An all-in-all beautiful young woman who is as bad at noticing her own beauty as Clark Kent is at noticing his and tonight she isn't wearing her reading glasses.  Her somewhat figure-hugging black and grey dress with a dipping neckline reminds me of the dress I wore to my prom with matching shoes, complete with the tiara on her head. 

"Aimee," breathes Johnny behind me, sounding a little nervous.  Even for a boy who is anything but a prude, I can't blame him for sounding nervous.  

I step aside a little and watch as a beautiful smile spreads across Aimee's features.  "Hey, stranger."

Johnny opens his mouth by no sound comes out.  It's very brief, but I see him glance down at himself.  No doubt he suddenly feels way under-dressed in his burgundy V-neck T-shirt and black jeans and Converses.  "Aimee," he finally gets out.  "Um, what are you doing here?"

Before Aimee answers, she turns to me.  "Chloe, could you give us a minute?"  

Beaming, I oblige as I step out to enjoy the crisp night air.  I walk over to the stone railing of the large porch and just stare out into the distant city lights.  Not the skyline that I plan on feasting my eyes with for much longer, but it is a little difficult letting go of a city that has been my home for almost twenty years.  I feel someone's presence and I don't have to turn to know who it is.

"Do you have anything to do with this unexpected visit?" I interrogate, still glancing into distance.

"I know Johnny didn't want to attend his prom, but I couldn't help feeling that the prom queen should share a dance with the only guy she felt safe dancing with," replies Clark.  "And before you ask, Aimee is smart enough that a pair of glasses and a good slouch are not enough to convince her that Clark Kent isn't Superman; Johnny doesn't know, but Aimee has known who I am for almost since the day that I saved her life when she was eight."

I glance back at the doorway.  It looks like Johnny invited Aimee in.  I laugh.  

"What's so funny?" laughs Clark.

I shake my head as I lock eyes with him.  "Dark haired, farmer, Smallville, addiction to flannel...Johnny is just like me!"

Clark raises his eyebrows.  "Aimee prefers blue, grey and black flannels, wears Converses, and is _definitely_ not an intergalactic traveler."

I roll my eyes.  "Shut up."  Although, I suddenly smile as I feel a wave of contentment flood me.  "Wow, it's been a long time since Johnny was so happy that I could feel it from here."

"You ever wondered why he can make people feel his emotions when really he ought to simply have inherited your healing ability--which he has?" inquiries Clark.  

I never paid much attention to it but, "Yeah.  Why, do you know?"

Clark exhales nervously as he sticks his hands in his--suit coat?  Why is he wearing a tux?  "Johnny might kill me for sharing this, but it was when he was fifteen, he went to a high school party--the  _only_ party he ever went to.  He ate the brownies."

I groan.  "Oh, honey," I lament, staring at the house towards my son.  

"Not pot-brownies, but he would later find out that they were laced with krytonite-enhanced antidepressants," explains Clark.  I remember Oliver taking down a drug ring that was selling such products.  

"So why aren't there a bunch of people running around with powers just like Johnny?" I ask.

"Whoever the host of that party Johnny was at must have really hated him because the antidepressants these brownies were laced with were a much higher, practically lethal concentration of them.  You were on a business trip for a story you were working on and Oliver made me promise not to say anything to you about it.  He probably even made Johnny go so far as to not write anything about it in his diaries."

I scowl.  "It wasn't any of Oliver's business what Johnny wrote in his diaries."

Clark shrugs.  "Oliver was always very...strict about making sure what his family did on the sidelines was as secretive as possible.  I have had to pretty much threaten him with blackmail at times when I caught him snooping through Johnny's diaries and even trying to tear out some of his entries.  I never told Johnny because I knew how much writing in his diaries helped him therapeutically and I didn't want him to have any reason to feel like he should stop."

My hands clench and tremble as I fume.  The more I hear about the transgressions of Oliver's that I never knew about, the more I want to take a sledgehammer and bash his granite headstone at least until the words on it are unreadable.  I can't stay angry though.  At least not like I used to.  Oliver Queen is not a chapter in my life that I can just close the door on.  It's a chapter that I am slowly building a brick wall around, with little divots large enough for my children and only my children to escape through.  So there are still some moments where I can't help imagining doing some very awful things to my late husband.  

I figure I should just change the subject.  

"So not that I don't love your company, but why are  _you_ here?" I ask, not impolitely.  "And in a tux?"

An ear-to-ear grin spreads across Clark's face as he reaches into a pocket inside his coat and reappears with a long blue cloth.  I raise an eyebrow at the cloth suspiciously.  "I need to cover your eyes," Clark explains simply.  

I roll my eyes and shrug.  "Alright."  I hold still as Clark carefully ties the blindfold around my head, covering my eyes.  Clark then wraps his arms around me and I vaguely realize that we are flying.  I grip him tightly as I feel the winds rush past me.  I don't know how fast Clark travels when he is taking a passenger like me along for the ride, but he always protects me from the winds as best he can.  It feels like we are traveling for maybe five or ten minutes before I feel him slow to a stop.  Clark gently sets me down and my feet touch what feels like wood.  And my nose is quickly invaded by...farm smells.  Am I in a barn?

"Can I take this stupid blindfold off now?" I ask.  "And where are we?"

"Um, we are at my home," explains Clark as he carefully unties the blindfold.  

I scoff.  "Clark, I don't know where we are, but this is not the Watchtow..." the sentence falls short as I see where we are.  The ratty old red couch, the books everywhere, the miscellaneous stuff that Clark had collected over the course of his youth...I tentatively take a step towards the open window.  The fields that flood many of my favorite memories, the yellow house that always welcomed me with open arms and delicious meals...

"Clark..." I breathe.  "You bought...?"  After Martha Kent died, I thought Clark would  _never_ want to even step foot on this farm again.  

Clark beams at me as he shrugs.  "Actually, a very generous benefactor with the initials J.S.Q."

My eyes widen to the point that I worry they'll pop out of my skull.  "Johnny bought the farm back?  For you?"  

Clark nods happily. 

"When?" 

"Three months ago," he chirps.  "He had saved up quite a bit of all the ridiculous allowances Oliver gave him and, in his own words, he finally found a good use for some of it.  And he threatened me with bodily harm if I ever sell it again.  As he is eighteen and a few of Oliver's accounts were transferred to his name, he also promised that he's willing to cover whatever expenses I might need in terms of renovation or remodeling."

I laugh.  "I was wondering what Johnny was doing with all that money I realized he had spent."  I walk over to him and shove at him a little.  "How come you never told me?" I demand.

Now Clark smiles awkwardly as he bows his head in guilt.  "I was waiting for the right moment."

If I wasn't worried about hurting my hand, I'd slap him.  I go back to the window and just drink in the place a bit.  Although, something is awfully different about the house.  "Clark, why does the house look bigger?"

I hear him hesitate behind me.  "I-I was very conflicted about doing it, but I added a couple of bedrooms."

I whip around and frown at him. 

"Dad always told me that one day when I was running the place that I might end up changing a few things or adding a few things the same way he did when his dad gave him the house," he explains.  "Plus, the previous owners turned out to not be the best and half the house was burned down."

Savagely, I'd love to pay those former owners a visit and introduce them to my fists.  

"Yeah, I was very upset too," grumbles Clark, noticing my scowl.  "As I observed the wreckage, I realized that some things were going to have to change.  Almost everything that you remember about the house is the same from the kitchen, to the living room, to my bedroom, and all that, but I expanded the foundation and even added a basement.  I figured that two bedrooms wouldn't be enough for when I finally start a family and, well as much as I am not living here full-time at the moment, I think both my parents would roll over in their graves if I started a family somewhere other than this farm.  Really, I think that I moved to Metropolis in the first place because Lois never got into farm life and--"

I cut him off as I smother him with a hug.  "Jonathan and Martha would be proud of you," I mumble into his chest.  

"I just wish that they could have lived to see that I finally found where my heart truly belongs," says Clark solemnly as he returns the hug.

We are silent for several minutes as we stand in the loft as we had so many times before.  This is where I became friends with him.  This is where we have reconciled so many times.  This is where we usually ended up when we had homework, or we needed each other when we needed a shoulder to cry on, this barn is where Clark asked me to spring formal.  It didn't end up being the experience I deserved, but still Clark asking me here of all places just makes this place too special.  This is where I once said goodbye to him before I left for another city, another life.  Hopefully there will be no more goodbyes--at least no more of  _those_ goodbyes--in our lives ever again. 

"So, Clark," I say to him eventually.  "Why the tux?"

I can hear him smiling.  "I'm glad you asked."  He breaks away from me and gets out an iPod and I watch as he hooks it up to a soundbar and flicks through the songs.  "Ah-ha!" he exclaims as he finds the song he is looking for.  As he hits play, I giggle at the song that plays.  It's "Perfect Memory" by Remy Zero.  Clark turns to me and offers his hand.  "Chloe Sullivan," he begins, "may I have this dance?"

Tears stream in my eyes as I glance at Clark's proffered hand.  "Clark, I'm not dressed for a dance," I protest weakly, gesturing to my white button-down shirt and black slacks.  Also, I can't help feeling that something bad will happen if I accept his hand.  

"Neither was Johnny when Aimee asked him for a dance, yet he accepted," he reminds me sagely.  "You can be wearing balloons and you would still look gorgeous."

I grimace.  "That's actually not a very flattering image, Clark."

He thinks about that for a minute.  "You're right, sorry about that, but still you are the most gorgeous woman who has ever walked into my life."  He offers his hand again.  

Chuckling tearfully, I accept it.  As Clark pulls me into his embrace and we begin to sway, I can't stop the tears from falling.  The memory of being so contentedly in his embrace like this is as painful as it is beautiful.  Vaguely, I realize that I feel weightless and I look down and see we are three feet off the ground, just slowly spinning to the song.  Clark's heart is pounding against my cheek and I feel my own heart pounding as I lift my head and glance up at him.  He fixes his gorgeous blue eyes down at me and I feel fifteen again, so in love and so incredibly happy in that one--and rudely brief--moment.  I lift my head slightly and my eyes flutter shut as I feel my lips begin to part.  

An alarm is screaming in my head, warning me about another disaster to pull this man from me again.   _Do you really picture Clark Kent being able to keep up with you?_ Lois's words ring in my head.  Clark's going to abandon me again just like he always does leaving me--

Our lips touch and suddenly the almost thirty-year-old pain is gone, evaporated, incinerated.  I have to fight the single laugh from escaping my lips as one of Clark's hands slides up and cups my cheek as our mouths slant, granting each other better access.  My own arms snake around his neck and I kiss his for all I am worth.  With each stroke of our tongues, the heartache of a nervous freshman in a pink dress is gone, replaced by a raging inferno deep in my soul at I never knew I could feel.  I taste salt and vaguely I realize that tears are streaming down Clark's face.  Maybe the thirty-year-old guilt of abandoning me is finally being lifted from his shoulders being replaced by what I hope is as strong a feeling as what I feel.  

Reluctantly, I release Clark's lips and we stare into each other's eyes as the song ends and another one begins.  "Fall For You" by Secondhand Serenade.  I register Clark's face and if it's anything like mine, it's like we are seeing each other for the first time in thirty years.  Oh, yes, Lois.  I do picture Clark Kent keeping up with me...at least where matters of the heart are concerned.  

"I have something I want to give you," says Clark as we float back down to the ground.  I stand patiently as Clark rummages through his things and eventually comes back to me with a small box.  Not small enough for an engagement ring and Clark hasn't descended to one knee, so I don't thing that this is a proposal.  To some degree, I'm glad.  As much as the thought of being his wife makes me feel I could fly, it would be way too fast.

I open the box and I see a bracelet.  It's a metal bracelet with a few intricate lines, some symbols that I recognize as Kryptonian, and in the center a beautifully cut turquoise crystal.  "What is this?" I ask as I carefully take the bracelet from the box.

"The first of what I hope will be many gifts to come," replies Clark.  He launches into an explanation that it came from the Kawatche chief's granddaughter and it's meant to be worn by Clark's soulmate.  I almost ask how come I never saw Lana or Lois wearing it, but he explains that first of all, he'd forgotten about the bracelet and also he felt that maybe it was because that neither one of them was his soulmate to begin with.  

"Will you wear it?" asks Clark, hopefully.

I smile up at him as I slip the bracelet onto my wrist, examining the look of it every which way.  "I'll never take it off."

Clark laughs and kisses me again.  As I kiss him back, all I can think is that Clark really lives up to the song.  

 

 

 

 

 

_Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you_

_Over again_

 

_Don't make me change my mind_  
_I won't live to see another day_  
_I swear it's true_  
_Because a girl like you is impossible to find_

_You're impossible to find_


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

More than once I find myself crossing and recrossing my legs.  To my right, Clark sits next to me and, despite his reassuring squeezes to my arm, my chest is all twisted up in knots as all attempts to relax fail.  Or at least fail to the point that more than once I find myself freeing tension that I didn't realize had been building up.  To my left, Lois sits with Bruce Wayne.  I would have brought Thea, but at her tender age, loud noises really bother her and I worried that the sounds of applause would send her crying.  So she's at daycare.  

Still, I can't help feeling like any moment the Army will show up and say that a meteor is its way.  Of course, Clark could blast it to smithereens before comes even close and even if he say that nothing is heading towards Star City...I still can't shake the feeling of something interrupting my son's graduation.  

 

The couple of weeks of school for Johnny were quite uneventful for him.  While I dealt with an amnesic Clark whereupon I learned all of Clark's powers and then there was that classmate of mine who trapped me and of our classmates in attempt to "keep high school from ending", Johnny didn't have anything so dramatic.  I happily watched his relationship with Aimee blossom again.

I remember coming home from the Kent farm to find Johnny...bubbly.  It was a strange sight.  Not that I've never seen him bubbly before, but I have to say that it was the first time I had seen him more than remotely high-spirited and happy since Oliver died.  I walked into his bedroom and he gave me one those really big smiles of his that I thought I'd never see again.  At the exact same time, we asked each other how our evenings went.  Then we said "You first" at the same time as well.  At that point, we just laughed and Johnny pulled a coin out of his pocket and flipped it.  It landed on tails, so he went first. 

He had danced with Aimee and I could barely believe my ears when he told me that they had kissed.  

"Well, what happened next?" I practically squealed.  

He smiled and explained to me that she had asked if it meant that they were in a relationship again.  He answered her with these words,

"Ask me again tomorrow, Aimee."

I almost lost control and screamed at him, but I thought for a minute.  Those were the exact words that Aimee said to him the first day they met when they were in the eighth grade.  Johnny accidentally bumped into Aimee and spilled his frappe on her.  That was one of his few Clark Kent-level awkward moments as he apologized to her, but he quickly snapped back into his quirkiness by telling her that he could grovel at her feet like a slave to his mistress, but he worried that she'd get annoyed with that very quickly--or at least that's how I remember him explaining it to me.  Aimee thought she'd get annoyed with that too.  And so began their friendship.  Well, Johnny definitely wasn't as bold as I was when I met Clark, but I'm glad that the way Johnny met his best friend wasn't the same as how I met Clark.  

In the last few weeks, Aimee and Johnny have been almost inseparable.  

I then took the opportunity to talk about my evening.  I showed Johnny my bracelet and all he could do was beam at me.  He was wondering when Clark would present it to me.  Upon my demand for an explanation, Clark, ever the gentleman and sometimes at an unnecessary level, asked Johnny for his permission before giving it to me.  Johnny confided that he really didn't feel like it required his consent and while I agree with him, I guess I also still need reassurance that my son doesn't hate me for being with Clark.  

I then went on to ask Johnny why he never told me that he bought the Kent farm.  He simply explained that he thought it would be more special hearing the news from Clark.  I agreed.  

To finish off the evening, the two of us basked in our shared happiness and shared popcorn and a movie.  

Right now as I sit here waiting for the proceedings to begin, I can't help feeling a little sad.  My son has to grow up, but I really am going to miss the movie nights, the frequent heart-to-hearts, and just having him around.  I helped--actually mostly I--raised him and helped mold him into a respectful person.  I always knew that one day he would have to leave and continue to grow, but still I feel like I'm about to watch a piece of my heart, leaving me with a bloody hole in my chest.  Of course, I know that Johnny would never say goodbye to me forever, and no doubt he will consult me in terms of paying bills and such in his early adulthood, but still a part of me wishes that he was still someone that requires me help when it comes to being fed, nurtured and cherished.

Clark has been reminding me again and again that Johnny is the last person next to him who would ever close the door on me forever.  Times like those, I end up wondering what did I ever do to have such wonderful men in my life?  Oliver might have been one of them for awhile--or maybe I pretended he was--but when I picture the wonderful men who are or were in my life, my mind immediately thinks of Clark Kent, Jonathan Kent, and my son Jonathan Sullivan-Queen.  I can't really call my dad either because he had been very absent in my life.  

My thoughts are broken by the proceedings beginning.  From my uncomfortable seat in the bleachers of the Star City High football stadium, I watch the graduates file onto the field.  I strain my eyes as I try to spot my son in the crowd.  Of course, as the valedictorian, I'll see him very soon, but still I'd like to be able to say that I spotted him before he was called to the raised platform.  I took care into making sure that Johnny could find me, Clark, Lois and Bruce Wayne in the crowd.  As it is Johnny's graduation, I decided to wear his favorite color.  Or at least a variation of it.  I don't have anything strictly purple, but I did have a burgundy blazer and matching slacks to wear.  I didn't get my hair coiffed, but then again, Clark likes it when a few of my bangs are obscuring my eye a little.  

Clark nudges me and he subtly points towards the crowd of students.  I follow his finger and my heart swells with pride as I see Johnny.  He was not excited to be wearing a gown in this eighty-degree weather, but at least it's a cloudy day.  Maybe it'll rain.  I repeat Clark's action to Lois and she smiles as she spots Johnny.  Given my relationship with Clark, I was worried about inviting Lois to town, but we had a long chat and she was happy for me.  She went so far as to say that for once in my life, I deserved to have something--or someone--that I have wanted nearly all my life.  Plus, she loves her godson and she wouldn't miss Johnny's graduation for the world.  Even if there is a noticeable bump in her belly.  

Lois has yet to reveal to me whether she and Bruce have any plans regarding marriage, but they both seem very excited about the baby.  I can't say I'm all too thrilled of my cousin having a child out of wedlock, but Bruce has been very good to her.  They've been a relationship longer and without any breakups than Lois ever was when she was with Clark.  

The principal speaks and welcomes everyone to the ceremony while also congratulating the graduating class.  I don't care, I just want to hear my son speak.  I imagine Oliver would have been proud of Johnny.  Like mother, like son.  I was valedictorian and now my son is valedictorian.  Although, as excited as I am to hear my son speak, I am also a little guilty.  Johnny didn't want to give a speech.  He has always hated being made a spectacle--a trait that I think spending so much time with Clark brought about--and he was reluctant.  When he saved Aimee from that school fire, reporters were all over him trying to get an interview out of him.  I had to arm-twist a good number of them--sometimes literally--to get them to stop harassing my son.  He was already traumatized by the event; he didn't need the media broadcasting his pain.

The principal invited Johnny up to the podium and he receives a warm amount of applause from the students and from me and his family.

I think he spots me in the crowd because for a moment I swear that we are staring directly into each other's eyes.  "Take your time, buddy," I whisper.  He won't hear me of course, but still I hope he can at least relax a bit.  I really should take my own mental advice, but Johnny never rehearsed his speech with me, so I have no idea what he is going to say.    

He audibly takes a deep breath.  "I never thought that I would end up standing behind this podium," he begins with a soft smile.  The comment receives some chuckling from the students.  "I really don't have much to say, but I will say I think that this--the valedictorian offering a speech is a stupid and outdated tradition."  The comment is met with a collective gasp from the bleachers--including Clark, Lois, and I, but is met with some cheers from the students.  "I may have gotten good grades, but I am no more special than any of you and this is just feels like a reason for this school to make it look like I am better than any of you.  I am not.  Like all of you, there were times when I struggled.  There were times when I had fond daydreams of tossing my homework behind my head and occupying my time with more exciting things.  There were times when I felt that I wasn't going to get anywhere in life.  'Valedictorian' is just another label along with 'jock', 'priss', 'loser', 'outsider'..." he trails off and while I see the school staff fuming behind him, the students look like they are murmuring in some form of agreement.  

"I was somebody who befriended a farmgirl, a nerd, a football player and many others.  If anything, life for me was more  _Breakfast Club_ than it was  _High School Musical_ or  _Mean Girls_ where I could point to a table in the cafeteria and put a name to the cliques.  Some of us might have complained about not being a part of a clique, or we might have felt that no one really ever understood us, and some of us might even have ended up being a little to sycophantic.  

"But you know what, high school is over.  Whatever labels that we've might have been branded with or that we gave ourselves are gone now.  We've been given a clean slate.  It's scary not knowing what lies beyond that big question mark that is our future.  The friends we've made, the heartaches we've suffered, the life-changing events that might have happened...it can all be history now.  Some of us might end up succeeding in life, some of us might not, but we'll never know if we don't embrace that large question mark.  I don't know about all of you, but I'm definitely willing to make the most of it.  

Congratulations, class of 2031," he walks away without another word, but earns a huge amount of applause from the students.  I have to say that I'm a bit impressed myself.  He kept it brief and made it a little personal, but it was still a good speech.  I just hope that they don't withhold his diploma for the remarks about being the valedictorian.  

The principal returns to the podium and curtly thanks Johnny for his speech.  Soon they line up the students again and they start listing off their names as they hand out their diplomas.  The graduating class is quite large and, looking at the program, it looks like Johnny is the only student whose last name begins with a Q.  I have always introduced him as "Jonathan  _Sullivan_ -Queen", but the school just listed him as Jonathan Gabriel Queen.  I hardly ever use Johnny's middle name, mostly because of how much I miss my own dad who barely returns my emails, and seeing it listed like that on the program makes me wish that Johnny's grandfather could be here to support him.  My dad was never proud of my marriage to Oliver and because of it, Johnny never really got to have a grandfather in the picture.  

On and on, the list of students goes on and every which way I can tell whose family is whose based on where the loudest cheers are coming from.  Eventually, Aimee's name is listed off.  Aimee Marek.  I always thought that her name was as beautiful as the girl it was attached to and I remember Johnny telling me that she was accepted into a Harvard law school.  At least Johnny doesn't have to say goodbye to Aimee really.  

I don't think that Johnny would have whined all that much if he and Aimee ended up very far apart, but then again, I have never been able to compare his relationship with Aimee to Clark's often cringe-worthy crush on Lana Lang.  He missed an opportunity to go to Princeton (which was less Clark's fault than that of Isobel Theroux's fault) and he even stayed at Central Kansas University all because he wanted to stay close to Lana.  No, Johnny would have shared an emotional goodbye to Aimee, but he never would have rejected his acceptance into Harvard just so he could stay close to her.  

Finally, Johnny's name is called and...he does not show up.  His name is repeated.  Still he does not show.  I exchange a look with Clark and Lois and they look just as confused as I do.  I mouth "X-ray vision" to Clark and even as my lips mouth, I see his eyes focusing.  He slowly scans the whole area and I think he spots him as his eyes narrow.  He gets up and Lois and I follow suit as Bruce says that he will grab Johnny's diploma for him.  Clark, Lois and I carefully navigate our way through everyone and out of the bleachers.  

On the upside, I enjoy excuse to get of that uncomfortable bench.  Clark leads us away from the football stadium and towards the school.  Eventually, we find Johnny sitting on one of the steps leading up to the front of the school staring down into his lap.  As we reach him, I make the first approach and I stop just a few paces away from him.  There are tears streaming down his face.  

"I always used to sit on this exact spot whenever Dad offered to pick me up from school," he says distantly.  

With a heavy sigh, I close the distance between us and take a seat next to him.  Lois sits on the other side of him.  This feels very much like old times when Lois was living with us and we would try and console Johnny when he was feeling low.  

"Sometimes Dad came when he said he would, more times he ended coming anywhere between twenty minutes to an hour late, but he always came," Johnny laments as giant tears roll down his cheeks.  "I kept looking towards the entrance to the bleachers, thinking that maybe I might see him, hoping that he would come and see me graduate, but he wouldn't.  He couldn't."  Johnny looks up and locks eyes with me.  "At this point, I couldn't care less if you and Dad were still married.  I just wish he was here right now."  I pull him into my embrace as he sobs.  

"I'm sure he'd be very proud of you, Johnny," says Clark tenderly, coming up in front of Johnny.  "He'd be an idiot if he wasn't."

A mirthless laugh escapes Johnny's lips.  "Then he'd be an idiot, because he never showed me that I could decide to not continue life as a vigilante without his disapproval.  He was upset enough that I didn't want to wear a green costume.  Would going to Harvard really have been enough to overshadow his disappointment in me not wanting to carry a bow at night?"  

Clark thinks about it for a moment.  "I really don't know," he finally says with a shrug.  He kneels in front of Johnny and smiles at him.  "If it counts, I for one am proud of you.  I always have been.  And whatever you end up doing, I'll always be here for you, Johnny."

Johnny--as well as Lois and I--stare at Clark.  Clark just smiles the way that he has always smiled at my son.  That way that often only someone like me would be able to tell did little to mask the...hurt he wasn't my son's father.  After Oliver's death, I slowly started to see that hurt disappear.  Clark never talked about it with me, but following Oliver death, I finally opened my eyes to that hurt behind Clark's eyes.  The hurt of never being my husband.  Of not being my son's father.  Of not being someone that a child had the right to call "Dad".  

My son gently tears himself from me and gives Clark a long hard look.  "And you always have been," he finally says before wrapping himself around Clark.  Clark is startled for a minute or two, but soon he wraps his arms around my son.  As hugs between Clark and Johnny go, this one has to be the most intimate I ever witnessed.  Even the smile that is on Clark's face is more content than I have seen in the longest time.  Almost...fatherly.  

Johnny unhooked one of his arms and gestures to Lois and I.  We join the hug and we bury my son in our embrace.  

"Are you up for fondue?" asks Lois.  

Johnny laughs.  "Is that what we're doing for my graduation dinner?"

"Yup," I chirp.  "And I hope you don't mind, but I invited Aimee and your friends to join us."

My son laughs again and we break apart.  He studies the three of us.  "Old people are awesome," he drawls with a wet smile.  

I blink slowly as I exchange a look with Lois and Clark.  Old people?  Johnny registers our looks and soon laughs rumble out of his chest even as the three... _old people_ scowl at him.  

 

***

 

An hour later, we are laughing and smiling as we celebrate Johnny's graduation.  Johnny's friends comment and laugh about his speech, calling it "genius" and "on point".  Even I have to admit that I thought he did really well with his speech.  The school staff didn't seem to think so.  According to Bruce, he had to sweet-talk the school staff into giving Johnny his diploma.  Why should they withhold his diploma for expressing himself?  The last thing my son needs right now in his life is for him to not be able to share what he feels.  If he feels that valedictorian speeches are silly, then he shouldn't have to apologize for it.  

In what I think was a silent effort to make Johnny feel better about Oliver's absence, pretty much everybody went around talking about some of their favorite memories of him.  A lot of them were about things that happened at school.  Mischievous escapades that happened and times when Johnny was just a friend to everybody.  I do have to laugh as his friend, Felicity Smoak, talks about the first day they met.  

She spazzed out and spilled her hot coffee on his shirt.  He was wearing an undershirt and he managed to take off the other shirt before it sank through.  It seems like a lot of Johnny's friendships began with awkward encounters.

More distastefully, someone brought up that psychotic girl, Carrie Cutter.  Talk about a girl who was more than a little nuts.  She was delusional and didn't take rejection very well.  Among other things, she tried to hurl something sharp at Artemis!  I don't like it when people try to hurt my son's dog.  

Carrie Cutter wasn't the only girl to fall victim to Johnny's looks.  Many girls over the last four years tried to win my son's affections even after he began his relationship with Aimee.  Some of them went so far as to try and convince people that he was unfaithful.  A few photoshopped images weren't enough to convince people, but each time it was a big spectacle.  People kept trying to paint my son with an image liken to Oliver Queen in his youth, but all they got was a boring, faithful guy whose friends were not among the social elite.  

Eventually, I tear myself away from the dinner table and take a step out onto the restaurant's balcony.  I feel a presence behind me and I smile.  

"It's scary, isn't it?" says Clark.  

I sigh.  "I raised him and at the end of this summer I'll have to say goodbye to him."  Clark's hand rests on my shoulder and I cup it with my own.  

"You know you won't be saying goodbye to him forever," Clark reminds me for the umpteenth time.  "Johnny loves you and he's not somebody that I'll have to scold for not emailing you at least once a week."

"Still, not to sound clingy, but I'll miss seeing him at the dinner table every night," I lament. 

"There will still be holidays."

"Yes there will be."

"And Johnny will most definitely send birthday presents to you and Thea."

"And you, Clark."  I laugh at I spin around to face him.  "What did my family do to deserve you?"

Clark shrugs.  "I don't know, but I would definitely like to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you...if you'll have me."

I smile brightly.  "I can get on board with that."  I reach up and kiss him.  Clark's hands slip around my waist as he deepens the kiss.  

I don't know if it'll take six months, or a year, or more, but one day Clark will officially be mine.

 


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

"Chloe will you please come out?" pleads Lois.

"Absolutely not!" I fire back.

On the other side of the bathroom door, I hear Lois grumble.  "Johnny, please tell your mother that pregnant or not, if she doesn't come out of that bathroom, I will kick the door down."

"You know she will, Mom," Johnny reminds me.  "Mom, you're wearing a Vera Wang gown and there's a really tall alien--"

" _Intergalactic traveler_!" Lois and I correct him.  

"Excuse me, intergalactic traveler outside waiting for you," Johnny finishes.  "And right now the only thing that's going to make anything go wrong is if you get cold feet."

"I already have cold feet!" I whine, throwing the door open.  First wedding--interrupted by Doomsday, plus my mind was piggybacked by Brainiac.  Second wedding--a guilt wedding to spare me the shame of my son growing up with parents who got married during a drunken night of mayhem.  What if something goes wrong this time?  

All those thoughts disappear as Lois and Johnny--my maid of honor and my escort stare open-mouthed at me.  Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I clasp my hands in front of my as I stare down at myself.  Strapless, A-line, lacy patterns on the bodice, the sapphire engagement ring Clark gave me for my "something blue", the Kryptonian bracelet for my "something old", the dress of course can be considered my "something new", as for my "something borrowed"...that was a tender moment shared between Johnny and I.  When I visited him at Harvard a couple of weeks ago and told him that Clark proposed to me, all he could say was that I had waited long enough.  Almost thirty years to be exact.  He gave me a purple boutonniere that his girlfriend, Aimee once gave him and I added it to my bridal bouquet.  

Johnny is the first person who smiles.  "You look beautiful, Mom."

I look up at him.  I could say the same about him in his Burberry tux with the white boutonniere and with his hair neatly combed and gelled sideways.

 "You're too sweet."

"Oh, shut up, Chlo, you do!" protests Lois.  Her blue dress looks very beautiful as well.  "Now, let's go."  She half-waddles out of the bedroom--one of the new bedrooms Clark added when he renovated the Kent house--and the door closes behind her.  

I stare up at Johnny again.  I smile.  "Thanks for being so supportive."

He just smiles back.  "I love you Mom and you know that I have always loved Clark.  Maybe it was difficult seeing you move on from Dad so quickly even if you didn't love him anymore, but you've waited long enough to be with the man you've always wanted."  He laughs.  "I just still can't believe you wanted me  _both_ as your escort and as your minister!"

I can't help but laugh too.  Clark and I wanted a quiet wedding and we didn't feel like hiring a minister, so our...brilliant solution was Johnny being ordained a minister online.  He laughed about it at first, but he eventually complied.  

"You're my son, Johnny," I say with a shrug.  "If someone was going to minister my wedding, I wanted it to be someone I love and trust and you were the most worthy candidate."  Plus, I felt that, considering their history, having Lois minister my wedding would have felt like flaunting Clark in front of her.  Johnny has already shown me time and again that he's proud of my relationship with Clark.  

"Well, then, let's follow Lois outside," Johnny suggests, offering the veil.  I smile and let him put it over my face.  I slip my hand around the crook of his arm and he leads me through the house and out the kitchen door.  Immediately, I feel the slight chill of late November, but the weather cooperated and so it's in the low sixties.  

As Johnny leads me down the path nicely outlined by trails of fallen leaves, I study the place.  The Kent farm, one of the first places I was introduced to when I had to trade Metropolis for Smallville all those years ago.  What a nervous girl I was, but it was quickly made easier by the boy who not only gave me a tour of Smallville, but became my best friend.

Now, in front of the barn, there he stands in a black tux in front of only five witnesses--Lois, Bruce Wayne, Aimee, Tess, and little Thea who Aimee has in her lap.  Pete Ross was also invited to be Clark's best man, but as the former President, he was very busy and wasn't able to make it.  Instead, Tess took up the role as Clark's best woman.  Quite fitting considering how close they have become in the years passed.  

As Johnny continues to lead me down the path, I think back to when Clark proposed to me.  

 

_"Clark, this is the first time in weeks that we have had an evening to ourselves and you wanted to have dinner in a barn?" I laughed as I entered Clark's barn.  Between conflicting assignments for the Daily Planet and Clark's Superman duties, we have barely had more than what felt at times like ten minutes to ourselves.  Almost all of October, we weren't able to have a dinner together.  At least not without interruption from a call from the Daily Planet or something that required Clark to put on his cape and tights._

_With Johnny off at Harvard and our communication being limited most of the time to just emails, things at first were very lonely.  Thankfully, some of that void was filled with Clark whether it was just talking with each other for a few minutes at work, after I've put Thea to bed (who Clark, upon my permission, formally adopted) and sharing more or less fancy meals together.  As much as I loved waking up next to him with or without clothes on, more then ever, I really enjoyed just having him to talk to._

_Finally, at the beginning of November, we were able to have a date and Clark sent me a beautiful blue dress.  Miniskirt, wide straps with a V neckline and I loved it.  I headed up the stairs to the loft and I found Clark had set up a small table with candles and a bottle of champagne with two glasses.  I always thought it was unfair that Clark could drink that stuff and never get drunk.  I saw Clark standing near the open window staring out into the night sky.  Upon my approach, he turned around and I saw that he failed to add a tie to his black suit and white shirt.  Well, I do like seeing him with a few of the buttons on his shirt unbuttoned, giving me a nice view of his chest._

_He smiled at me and I smiled back._

_"Hi," I said._

_"Hi," Clark greeted back.  Then he fell into his usual awkwardness with, "I know that we could've met somewhere like the Ace of Clubs or some fancy restaurant, but this felt more special." And he topped it off with a shrug and glancing at his feet._

_"Yeah, splintery wood and the smell of horses mingled slightly with those scented candles," I teased.  Clark gave me an indignant look and I told him that I was just teasing; I agreed that it was a special place._

_Clark gestured to the small table and he poured the champagne into the two glasses.  Once filled, he handed one to me and I said,_

_"To us," and we clinked our glasses.  Not long after I took a sip however, Clark surprised me with kiss.  Not that I didn't enjoy it, but when he pulled away, I asked, "What was that for?"_

_Clark smiled brightly.  "I know you've been thinking about it all day."_

_I smiled at the words Clark gave back to me.  "And?"_

_"And so I thought we'd just get it out of the way and become engaged," Clark replied with a smile and shrug._

_The wineglass felt out of my hand and landed on the wood with a shatter.  Totally unconcerned about it, I watched with tears in my eyes as Clark got down to one knee and pulled out a small box from his inside pocket._

_"Many years ago we stood in this very loft and you kissed me and I was given the best friend and ally ever could have had," Clark began as he opened the small box to reveal a round cut willow sapphire ring with a silver band.  "God knows our friendship hit some of the stupidest snags and I know that this is way overdue but now I'm asking_ _:  Chloe Anne Sullivan, will you marry me?"_

_Massive tears rolled down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I smiled bright enough to light up the entire state of Kansas.  "Yes," I breathed.  "Yes, yes, please yes!"_

_Clark's smile got even bigger as he slipped the ring onto my finger and got to his feet.  No sooner that he di_ _d so, I attacked his lips with several burning kisses.  Clark grabbed me and I squealed as he lifted me off my feet and swung me around a few times._

_"Yes, I'll be your wife, Clark Kent!" I repeated with a cry._

_"Sorry it took so long for me to ask," he apologized._

_"It's okay, Clark," I breathed into his neck.  "It was worth the wait."  All thirty years of it._

 

 

Savagely, I strongly considered contacting Lana Lang and bragging about it, but I didn't.  In fact, I would eventually find out that it was Johnny who contacted her and bragged about it after I revealed my engagement to him.  I wanted to reprimand him, but I was too unbelievably happy about being engaged that I couldn't stay angry long enough to even give him a slap on the wrist.  That's not a bad thing is it?  Lana surprised me by contacting me and inviting me out to lunch.  She said she was happy for me, but old habits die hard and I could tell that she was a little resentful that I finally got my dream.  Yes, it was  _extremely_ hard not to gloat.

Would it have been so bad if Clark swooped by like he does at very random moments (with or without the Superman regalia) and blew my brains out with one of those mind-numbing kisses of his?  Before disappearing again?  I can say that after we got engaged, Superman was much more chipper than usual for awhile.  He hugged a bank robber (after he apprehended them of course).  He flew more animatedly, sometimes without looking where he was going, to the point that people were vocally worried that he was on something.  In fact, the Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet wanted to get a story on what was causing this uncharacteristic behavior from the Man-of-Steel.  I had a  _really_ difficult time not showing just how much I was aware.  I was smiling, but I think people just dismissed it as purely that of an engaged woman. 

Superman was happy; he doesn't need permission to show it.  

 

Johnny and I reach the alter and he takes his place in front of Clark and I.  I grasp Clark's hands and we just smile into each other's eyes.  Eventually, Johnny clears his throat.  I break my gaze from Clark and smile at my son.

 _Take your time_ , I mouth with a smile.  

Johnny hates standing in front of people and I watch his shoulders rise and fall as he takes several deep breaths.  "Well, everyone we are gathered here today to witness this man," I think he wanted to use his affection use of  _twerp_ , "and this woman as they join in holy matrimony.  I...actually, I'd to share a few words that my mother wrote a long time ago."  

I frown at him.  What's he talking about?  Then I see him fish a very old piece of pink paper out of his inside pocket and watch him unfold it.  I share a look with Clark who looks as shocked as I do. 

"I found this in Clark's things months ago, don't judge me," Johnny mutters too low for everyone else to hear but us.  

 

 _"_ _I_   _want to let you in on a little secret, Clark_ ," Johnny reads.  " _I'm not who you think I am.  In fact my disguise is so thin, I'm surprised you haven't seen right through me.   I'm the girl of your dreams masquerading as your best friend. Sometimes I want to rip off this façade like I did at the Spring Formal, but I can't because you'll get scared and you'll run away again. So I decided that it's better to live with the lie than expose my true feelings. My dad told me there are two types of girls: the ones you grow out of, and the ones you grow into. I really hope I'm the latter. I may not be the one you love today, but I'll let you go for now, hoping one day you'll fly back to me. Because I think you're worth the wait."_

A low hum of "aww's" resonates through the handful of witnesses.  Even as Johnny read the letter, I ended up gazing into Clark's eyes again.  Oh, how that fifteen-year-old lovesick girl would have loved to see such adoration from those baby blues.  

"I don't know exactly when my mother wrote these words, but there you have it," continues Johnny.  "My mother began her own love story with this man a long, long time ago and it would seem that, even without her knowing it, it never truly ended.  Growing up, I saw the stolen glances from Clark and I knew that there was something a lot deeper than friendship going on and I saw how much he cared for my mother.  He never asked for anything in return even as he brought her coffee, gave her a shoulder to cry on, and was simply there for her when she needed someone to talk to.  At least nothing besides her friendship.  That friendship continued even after I started to see my mother's marriage to my dad deteriorate."

I frown at him again.  

"Not to dwell on the sadness, but as my suspicions of Clark's feelings grew, I asked him how he felt about my mother and these were his words:  'I don't have feelings for your mother.'"

A collective gasp comes from me and everyone else.  At least everyone but Clark, who is just beaming.

"'I'm in love with her,' he told me," Johnny continues.  "'I spent years trying to suppress it, but as the years went by it grew into agony.  I didn't realize or accept it for awhile, but eventually, that ache I felt whenever I watched her leave, whenever a day went by that I didn't hear her voice, I knew what it was.  Johnny, I love your mother.  Maybe I've loved her since we were in high school, but I didn't realize, or accept it.  And God knows I had my distractions, but I'm telling you, words can't describe how I feel about her'."

All I can do is stare at Clark.  Yeah, there were some  _huge_ distractions and at least two of them involved an LL monogram.  I love at least one of them dearly, but if I'll be honest, she broke girl code by going after Clark.  I broke girl code too when I started sleeping with Oliver, but Lois was the first one to break it.  But no more distractions.

"And I would just like to say to Clark, thank you," all eyes are on Johnny now as he smiles up at Clark.  "Thank you for coming into my mother's life.  Thank you for being someone that I could look up to all my life.  Thank you for loving my mother and I have no doubt that you will do nothing but keep loving her from this day forth.

"Now, everyone, Clark and my mother would like to share their own words."  Tess hands Clark the wedding band and there is no hesitation or speech-stumbling as he lifts my hand and slips the ring on my finger.

"Well, Johnny took the words right out of my mouth," he pouts.  Johnny glances down ruefully, but everyone chuckles.  "Chloe, you've been my friend longer than anybody and I was fool to ever think that someone like you would be scared off by my secrets.  The fact that you never once recoiled as you found out about my powers and heritage...the way you looked at me when I told you that I didn't come from this galaxy...you showed me that there was somebody besides my parents who could look at me and not see some sort of creature from out of space."

I raise my eyebrows at him quizzically.

"Okay, I _am_ a creature from outer space, but you know what I mean," Clark continues with a laugh.  "You stayed my friend even when I gave you every reason to hate and distrust me.  You stayed devoted to me even as I put a huge wall in between us.  You never gave up on me and I love you for it.  And, let's face it, you're beautiful."

I giggle.  

"I can't imagine living any longer in this world without calling you mine and if you say yes to me, I won't have to."

It's my turn, I guess.  "Clark, I've come a long way from that bold girl who kissed you in the loft of that barn behind Johnny," I begin as I slip the ring onto Clark's finger. "I've always loved you on some level and if the thousands of super-saves are any indication, I always knew that you would be there for me.  For a long time, I thought I outgrew my love for you, but old habits die hard.  You were always there for me when I needed you Clark and if  _you_ say yes to  _me_ , I'll finally be able to do the same for you.  And you're quite beautiful too, by the way."

Clark giggles.

Johnny clears his throat again.  "Well, Mom, Clark you two came here to exchange vows.  Clark do take my mother to be your--"

"I do," Clark announces.

"And do you, Mom--"

"Oh, hush, you know I do!" I cut him off sweetly.  

"Well then, by the powers invested in me by...the internet, I now pronounce you man and wife.  Clark, shut up and kiss my mother."

Clark exhales.  "Finally."  He lifts my veil and plants one of his most mind-numbing kisses upon my lips.  My arms lock around his neck in a tight embrace as I kiss him for all I am worth.  I become deaf to the applause from the small crowd.  When I finally break away from Clark, I even see the little, now two-year-old Thea clapping as well.  

"Welcome to the family, Clark," says Johnny.  

I whip around to see him smiling at the two of us.  He offers his hand out to Clark.  I look at Clark and see his eyes sparkling as he accepts Johnny's hand.  No sooner that Clark grasps my son's-- _our_ son's--hand does Johnny yank him into a hug.  When they break apart, Johnny says,

"We'll wait for the two of you inside."  I watch as he follows everyone back into the house.  When he disappears inside the door, I turn to see Clark beaming at me.  

"Hey, there wifey," he says.

I narrow my eyes.  "Say that again."

Clark closes the distance between us and his lips brush over my ear as he whispers, "I said 'hey there,  _wifey_.'" 

I moan pleasurably.  "Clark Kent, are you trying to make me come before we even start our honeymoon?" I ask him with a breathy voice.  

"Maybe, but we probably shouldn't bail on our own reception."

I groan.  "Yeah, maybe you're right.  But make no mistake, Superman," I begin, holding up a warning finger.  "You're mine now and when we get to your cabin in Appalachia, you will not leave that bed unless I say so.  Understood?"

"Yes ma'am," squeaks Clark.  Although soon he smiles and we begin laughing.  He offers his arm and I wrap my hand around it.  

As we head in to that house where I plan on creating so many new memories with him all I can do is smile.

Clark Kent is my husband.

My home is the Kent farm.

Both my children love and cherish him.

Now I can give Clark a few more children that he can call his own.

And it was all worth the wait.

It really was.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is basically finished. The final chapter will just be an epilogue which I will try to get done as soon as I can. But I have another story to finish before I can post it. I hope everyone had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. And please let me know if I should add any chapters between this one and the last one or if I should add more chapters after this one. 
> 
> And don't worry, eventually at least after I read a book or two on my bucket list and update a few of my original stories, there will be plenty more Chlark stories.
> 
> And a special thanks to Sky for all the lovely and helpful comments. If nothing else, they are the main reason this was a gift to you. Plus, you're a Chlarker. Can never have enough of Chlark, right?


	26. Epilogue

"Ms. Sullivan, I think you're losing your writing skills," drawls an unashamedly amused voice behind me.  

I whip around in my chair and scowl up at my husband.  "Excuse me?  That's  _Mrs. Kent_ thank you very much!  Or have you forgotten who you married ten years ago?"  

Clark purses his lips as he thinks about that for a minute.  "I don't know, but there's this  _gorgeous_ , one-of-a-kind woman who I wake up in my bed with every day.  You might know her.  She's blonde," Clark steps a little closer and my breath hitches in my throat as his face stops inches away from mine, "has green eyes, freckles in all the right places, beautiful curves, perfect nose..." he trails off as his lips graze mine and I feel myself tighten up as, with no input from my brain, my lips move against his.  Before I can deepen the kiss, however, Clark pulls away.  "And for the third time in a row, she has more typos that I do."

Good feelings gone.  "What!" I shout.  I get up from my chair and rush over to my article draft for the Daily Planet.  A long time ago, I think maybe even before we got married, we started this little competition.  Whoever had more typos bought dinner, or was the dove in bed, or basically did everything the other asked.  If one of us has the most typos three times in a row, it would mean anything from being the one to pick up the children from daycare to what felt like hours of torturous foreplay.  Usually, I was the one with fewer typos, circling Clark's typos and then doing with him as I please.  

Although sometimes, I am the one with more typos such as this time.  I slam the draft back down on the bed.  "God!" I scream.  "These were to be the last articles we wrote before we retired from journalism for awhile and  _I_ am the one with more typos?"

Clark shrugs.  

I slump down onto the bed with my face in my hands.  I can't believe this!  I'm the better reporter!  Maybe that journalistic hubris has been downfall.

"Oh, sweetheart," Clark soothes, sinking down onto the bed with me and settling his hands on my shoulders.  I do my best to stifle any utterance of pleasure as his fingers massage the knots in my muscles.  I don't know if he ever took a lesson from a masseuse, but he is damn good at giving massages.  "You might have more typos than me, but you're still the better reporter.  Well, at least you're the reporter with more critical acclaim.  You won your fourth Pulitzer five years ago!  I still have just the one that I shared with you."

I scoff.  "Don't sell yourself so short," I admonish.  "Sure, my articles have won more awards than you, but you and I both know that you are a great reporter as well."  And I mean it.  I might have quickly worked my way up to becoming Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Planet, but I can think of quite a few of Clark's articles that, while they might not have received any big-time awards, had people buzzing about how good they were.  I might never say this out loud, but as much as I love being a critically-acclaimed journalist, as the years have gone by, they have started to feel like silly objects taking up space.  Why have newspaper polls constantly listing me among the greatest when I have a husband who tells me every day--and sometimes to my annoyance--how great I am?  

I feel like some of the actors that I've had the opportunity to speak to who, while proud of their achievements and being recognized for it, mentioned that their Golden Globes and Emmys and Oscars started to feel like clutter after awhile.  

Just then, the door to our bedroom flies open, making Clark and I both jump.  Is the sign saying "If this door is closed, DO NOT DISTURB, Injuries or health-related emergencies only exception" completely unimportant?  

Clark and I both turn towards the door and there we see a twelve-year-old girl.  Long blonde hair, brown eyes, looks mostly like her father in contrast to her older brother looking just like me, (although I wonder what she'll start to look like when puberty kicks in)...

"Thea," I reprimand.  She knows she's not allowed to barge in without knocking first.

Clark's adoptive daughter just smiles wickedly, brandishing her braces-covered teeth.  "There he ish!" she lisps, pointing at Clark.  At least at home, she's not embarrassed by the lisp her newly-installed orthodontia is causing.  "Attack, my minions!"

I barely have time to get off the bed before two small, raven-haired terrors brandishing pillows with green pillowcases rush in and pounce on Clark, hitting him playfully.

"Kryptonite!" yells Clark, moaning helplessly between blows from the pillows.  "Chloe, HELP ME!"

I scratch my chin thoughtfully as the eight-year-old twins continue to hit their father with the harmless pillows.  I also have to fight back a giggle as Clark makes an over-the-top impression of the effects of real kryptonite.  I glance at Thea who is cackling evilly while drumming her fingers together.

"Yesh, my shishtersh, make him shuffer!" she encourages.

I finally glance back at my husband.  I shake my head, no.  "If the girls want to make you suffer, then your job to suffer."

At that, Clark just scowls and folds his arms as his daughters--Moira and Marty--continue to hit him with the pillows.  

I remember the first time our children ever did something like this.  In fact, it was all orchestrated by their older (half) brother, Johnny.  When the twins were about four years old, Johnny was visiting for the summer and Clark was immersed in work.  Between the Daily Planet and his duties as Superman (which he took a year-long hiatus from when I was pregnant with the twins, in his own words, he wasn't going to be flying around in tights when he had a pregnant wife at home) he was swamped.  The girls--including myself--already suffered numerous failures trying to get him to loosen up, so when Johnny came home for the summer, he took matters into his own hands.  

He wasn't going to use real kryptonite on his godfather-turned-stepfather, of course (plus, while it doesn't affect them as severely due to being half human, still makes them nauseous after prolonged exposure) he wanted to help his family have some fun with him.  He took his sister and half-sisters shopping and they come home with a lot of green things.  Green pillowcases, baseball bats that they later spray-painted green, green toy lightsabers, as Marty was a big Star Wars fan, and even a few green fake gemstones.  He made sure the gemstones weren't kryptonite, of course, and having a trained eye for jewelry, they were worthless.  

Clark came home late as he had been for days and he found all the lights in the house off.  I don't know if he used his X-ray vision or not, but eventually, he went to the barn to see where everyone was.  No sooner that he passed the threshold into the barn, the twins burst from their hiding spots and started hitting him with the baseball bats painted green.  I still laugh as I remember how Clark freaked out at first before realizing that it wasn't at all kryptonite.

His children implored him to have fun with them and went so far as to tell him that if he didn't, they would die of neglect.  Even Johnny expressed concern that without his stepfather--who eventually grew to call "Dad," even though Clark always told him that he never expected him to--taking a breather once in a while, he wouldn't have someone other than his mother to talk to on a parent-child level. 

Clark eventually softened and promised to have some fun.  Although, without telling him, I had Johnny hide Clark's super-suit in a kryptonite box somewhere safe for a couple of weeks.  Clark wasn't too happy about that, but Metropolis can survive without its Man of Steel for a few weeks or more at a time.  It did pretty well when I was pregnant with the twins.  

Eventually, Moira is the first to stop hitting her father and she listens up.  

"Stop!" she yells at her sister.

"Why, we were--!" begins Marty, but Moira shushes her.  

Sometimes it seems like the only people who can tell those twins apart are Clark, Thea, Johnny, even Tess, as well as myself.  The things they both feature are Clark's model-like complexion set with my nose and the shape of my smile even if their chins aren't as prominent as mine.  They both feature blue-green eyes, but here's where their physical differences come into play.  Lois still says she can't see it, but the shape of Marty's eyes is more liken to mine whereas Moira's is to Clark's.  Beyond that (and their personal interests) the only way most people who are aware of their heritage can tell them apart is by the powers the two of them have started showing.  Despite being eight years old, Marty can already break the sound barrier when running.  I'm sure that more powers will start to appear, but so far both them are incredibly strong, Marty has superspeed and Moira has superhearing.  

Assuming it does happen, I'm not excited for either of them to start exhibiting heat vision. 

As Moira listens, a giant smile spreads across her face.  "Johnny's home!" she shrieks, followed by an equally unpleasant shriek from both her sisters.  The twins are the first to rush out, but not before I yell,

"If either one of you rips the door off his car again, it's coming out of your allowances!"  

Thea doesn't rush out yet, but just stares out the window, undoubtedly seeing her brother's car approach.  

"What's the matter, sweetie?" asks Clark, getting up from the bed and hugging his stepdaughter from behind.  

"Do you hate me, Daddy?" asks Thea.

"What!" Clark and I exclaim together.  Clark gently turns Thea around and I see the somewhat sad look in her eyes.  

"Why would you think something like that?" Clark asks softly as he steers her towards the bed, sitting her between him and I.  

"Marty and Moira can lift a truck over their heads and Marty is bound to keep up with light and Moira can hear things a mile away..." Thea laments.  "And what am I?  Just an overly smart girl who skipped a grade."

"Thea," I try not to sound reprimanding, but I think I failed a little.  "You can heal people, you silly girl."

"And I absorb a little bit of their pain when I do heal them," she adds wryly.  "What next?  I heal a dying/recently deceased person and I fall into a coma?"  

I share a look with Clark.  Thea's healing powers only recently showed up and my honest answer is that I don't know.  Johnny has my healing powers, but without the side effects.  What if Thea isn't the same way?  

"We don't know, Thea," Clark comforts, giving her a gentle squeeze.  "But whatever happens, whether you have my powers or not, you are still family and I love you more than life itself and nothing is going to change that."

"I'm not your biological daughter," Thea protests cynically.

"Doesn't change a word I've said," Clark declares firmly.  "I might not be your biological dad, but I love you no less than I do your sisters or even your brother."

That was one of the things I worried about when I became pregnant with the twins.  As I safely came to term in the seclusion of Clark's cabin in Appalachia, I foolishly thought that he would love the children growing in my belly different from the ones I had with Oliver.  So foolish!  He was over the moon when I became pregnant with them and even more so when, after twenty-five excruciating hours of labor (during which given the Kryptonian gene in them, I crushed Clark hand), I gave birth to them.  Between the four of my children, Johnny was the easiest.  I was in labor with him for only a half hour before he came out of my body.  Not that I didn't want to give Clark more children, but after the twins, I really wanted to wait awhile before I had more children.  

Massive tears roll down Thea's cheeks and she locks her arms around her stepfather's neck.  I join the hug. 

"I love you too, Daddy," Thea whispers.  

Eventually we break apart at the sound of the front door opening again.  

"Let's go greet your brother," I suggest.  

Thea hastily wipes her eyes dry and we follow her downstairs.  As we reach the stairs, Thea squeals,

"Johnny!" 

I watch proudly as she rushes down the stairs and throws herself on her brother, locking her arms and legs around him.  I have to say that he looks good even if his neatly combed hair is glittering with snow.  

Johnny glances up at me and we share a smile.  "Mom, call pest control, you have three monsters in the house!" 

I laugh as I follow Clark down the stairs.  

Eventually, Thea releases her brother and I take my turn hugging him.  "I'm so glad you could make it," I breathe happily.

"Me too, Mom," Johnny says softly.  "Things at the office are crazy!"

"Crazy how?" asks Clark as Johnny breaks away from me.  I watch happily as they grasp hands and clap each other's shoulder as they smile at each other.  

"This is totally off the record, but I don't think some of the board members are excited about a Queen taking control of the company," replies Johnny.  "It's going to take me some time to distinguish myself the 'Oliver Queen' image.  I think it helps that I invited Tess as a business partner."

I gape at him.  This Tess has most of the previous Tess's memories and being a shrewd businesswoman is one of them.  "Wow, smart move, buddy."  

Johnny shrugs.  "Tess is my best friend and we trust each other; I think morphing Queen Industries into Sullivan-Mercer Enterprises will be good for the company."

" _Sullivan-_ Mercer?" Clark and I repeat as one.  

Johnny's face turns serious.  "I'm not Oliver Queen; if I'm going to be a businessman, I don't want people trying to compare me to my late father any more than they already do.  Plus, even though I have begun to identify myself as a Kent and that I introduce myself as Jonathan Sullivan-Queen, the world knows me as 'Jonathan Queen, son of the late Oliver Queen.'  If I can avoid it as much as possible, I want to be able to go through my life without the world comparing to a man who died a long time ago."  

I want to tell him that I know quite a few journalists who have remarked on his blatant distinction from his father, but I know that that bothers him too.  He's not known for sexual escapades, he didn't grow up a bully, he isn't seen with a different woman on his arm on just about every other public appearance.  Actually, there's been speculation that he's engaged to a law school graduate by the name of Aimee Marek--who Johnny told me over the phone would be spending the holiday with her dad on their farm which Johnny bought back for them--which is perfectly true and the wedding is at the end of January, but in my last year of journalism before retirement, I, as well as a few fellow journalists whom I trust, have done our best to keep that under the radar as much as possible.  

"Well whatever you do, we're proud of you, Johnny," Clark says earnestly.  "Now, how about we join your sisters and enjoy this Christmas weekend?"

Johnny smiles as he shrugs off his pea coat and scarf.  "I thought you'd never ask, Dad." 

It's very subtle, but I see Clark's eyes twinkle just a little at Johnny calling him that.

After hanging up his coat and scarf in the closet, I watch as Johnny goes into the living room to join his sisters, who immediately start arguing over who gets to sit on his lap first.  

I hear Clark sniffle behind me and I whip around.  

"What's wrong, baby?" I ask him, slipping my arm around his.  

Clark hastily wipes his eyes.  "Oh, nothing it's just...I can't believe I had to wait so long to have a family like this."  Even Johnny got some of a wish he made a long time ago of coming home to a real family again.

I smile knowingly.  "Was it worth the wait?"

Clark beams just before planting a quick, but sensual kiss upon my lips.  "Yes it was, Chloe Kent."

And I wholeheartedly agree.  Now I just want to figure out a good way of telling him about the child growing in my belly.  

 


End file.
